


Synnecrosis

by dontcallmekoko



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Demon/Human Relationships, Existential Angst, From Sex to Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Predator/Prey, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Transformation, Unspecified Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 63,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcallmekoko/pseuds/dontcallmekoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Synnecrosis is a rare type of symbiosis in which the interaction between species is destructive to both organisms involved, eventually leading to death.</p><p>✦✧</p><p>In a world where sex demons prey on unaware humans, Takao is an incubus and Midorima is dinner.<br/>...Well, he was <i>supposed</i> to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. reelin him in

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this weird-ass fic.  
> Close your eyes. Ok, don't close your eyes, you won't be able to read. Imagine this:
> 
> The setting is present day, some urban city.  
> Our beloved characters are in the magical age range of 22-25.
> 
> And demons are real.  
> Well, one type of demon, anyway.
> 
> End of chapter notes will be useful for fully understanding the setting! Some stuff is probably going to be too awkward, wordy, or glaringly expository to explain through character dialogue or in-text!  
> Enjoy!

All he can think about is how fucking hungry he is.

Takao Kazunari's initial plans for the day had been work, coffee with a co-worker, more work, and then rounding the day out with his warmest socks, his comfiest blanket, and his favorite movie. Things had gone according to plan right up until the middle of his latte with Kise when he'd felt it. The rest of the work day had been a veritable nightmare and now, instead of Netflix and a blanket, Takao finds himself approaching the bar. For the _second_ time this week.

The weather isn't terrible for late November, but Takao has never been one for the cold and his feet can't carry him quickly enough, closing the distance from the metro to the bar in record time. As he gets closer to the neon lights and promises of warmth, the hunger pangs become longer. Deeper. He grits his teeth in an attempt to endure it.

Approaching the bar, a brief sense of relief washes over him before another painful wave rips through. Takao nearly bum rushes the door but finds enough tact and restraint to slow down and calmly turn the knob instead. He gives a nod of acknowledgment to the bouncer, the last thing between Takao and potential salvation.

"You look like you're in a rush," Nebuya comments, nodding back. His stature is made that much more massive by the winter coat he has on and just how much space he occupies in the rather tiny foyer.

Takao nods again, wanting nothing more in that moment than to ignore this conversation and head through the second entrance. When there's a brief silence and Nebuya keeps staring at him, Takao realizes he must be expecting a verbal response.

"You know how it is," Takao struggles to say, smiling. "Gotta eat."

Nebuya smiles back, just enough to be sociable but luckily, not so much that it seems he wants to keep talking. Takao smiles again and squeezes past him, through the final door.

 _Finally, warmth_ , is the first thought that comes to Takao's mind and he immediately scans the room.

Working the bar, there's Himuro, the somewhat-new guy whose name he still hasn't learned, and Mayuzumi—that's good. To his dismay, there aren't that many fresh faces, but among the regulars, he spots the face and lanky frame he's looking for. The trek from the door over to the booth is an easy one since it's not terribly busy tonight and Imayoshi catches sight of Takao almost instantly. Takao attempts a smile to greet him with but it just barely comes to fruition before the corners of his mouth give up and he winces in pain, instead.

Imayoshi raises an eyebrow and whistles at that, looking surprised. Or simply amused—it's hard to tell with him.

"You're back so soon, Kazunari!" Once Imayoshi turns his attention to Takao, the guys he'd been conversing with dispersed, as if being dismissed. "What about that kid from the other night?"

Takao grimaces again.

"I hope you're asking out of actual concern and not morbid curiosity because I am not in the fucking mood right now."

Imayoshi laughs. "Wow, someone must really be hungry! You always get bitchy when you haven't had a proper meal." The smirk on his face persists. Definitely amused. "So I'm guessing the guy was only, what, four points?"

Takao turns his head in annoyance, not willing to entertain Imayoshi tonight. He's never been keen on the way Imayoshi looks at humans solely as prey... and he's certainly not in the mood to discuss his last meal while his whole body is aching like this.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you look great," Imayoshi offers. 

Takao smiles bitterly. "Yes, it's great that everyone in this shit hole wants to fuck me but if they aren't a damn virgin there's no fucking point."

"Alright, alright." Imayoshi chuckles, though Takao is certain he hears a bit of apprehension there, as well. After a few seconds, he adds, "Hey... you know you can have a snack between meals, right?" Takao crosses his arms and Imayoshi's voice takes on a decidedly serious tone. "You wouldn't have to worry about your hunger getting this bad—you're literally starving yourself."

Takao purses his lips and decides to break eye contact then, turning to scan the crowd once more. They've had this talk too many times to count.

"I don't want to cause more harm than necessary."

Imayoshi sighs, a truly defeated look falling on his face. "They're just food, Kazunari!"

"We're never going to agree about this, Imayoshi." Takao knows there's no point in saying more than that. The way they feed may be the same, but the way Imayoshi appears to lack even a shred of empathy for the human race... that isn't him. That's never been him. Just then he gasps sharply, another torrent of pain ripping through him. He doesn't miss the way Imayoshi shakes his head.

 _Hunger's a bitch, though, so I won't judge anyone for eating well and of...ten... hold on._  Mid-thought, the door opens and Takao's prayers are answered.

"My, my." Imayoshi drawls, the dark, predatory tone in his voice far from hidden. "He sure looks lost, doesn't he?"

The man who just walked in hesitates as the door closes behind him. There's uncertainty in his broad, tall frame and his gaze goes from the booths, to the floor, to the bar, and back. The way he adjusts his glasses for no apparent reason and even his eventual choice to sit at the bar seat nearest to the door makes it clear to two incubi on the lookout:

Virgin.

"So which of us—"

" _Mine._ " Takao nearly growls it, extending an arm out against Imayoshi. "He's mine."

Imayoshi laughs. "Alright, alright, I concede. Go get him, dear." Still chuckling, he adds, "Don't scare him too far off with all that intensity, though. I still deserve a chance if you get turned down."

Takao manages a crooked smile at that before taking his leave.

As he approaches the bar, Takao analyzes his target. Pressed pants; fitted, collared shirt; pricey watch; what appears to be a glass of water; pursed lips; unwavering eye contact with his drink and the bar top. A reserved, proper young man, ordering a glass of water in a gay bar he's clearly never visited.

 ** _Please_** _let this one be a virgin_.

What Imayoshi last said strikes Takao again and he smiles to himself, almost laughs despite the pain intensifying, finally doing that dreadful thing where it spreads from just a body ache to a headache. The hungrier an incubus gets, the more alluring they become to humans—and he is fucking _ravenous_.

Takao looks him up and down one last time now that he's close to the bar. Takes this moment to admire the impressive body his conservative attire is hiding, noting the way his prim and proper clothes clearly cling on to well-developed muscles. He straightens his own posture a bit, possibly in self-conscious response to how impeccable  _his_ posture is, and runs his hand through his hair, making the mistake of catching Imayoshi's amused and watchful gaze from across the room. He gives him a look that says 'Oh, _shut up'_  and leans against the bar.

"Himuro-kun?"

The bartender with the beauty mark turns at the sound of his name and smiles.

"Takao-kun. Would that be beer or a vodka tonic tonight?"

"Beer! The darkest you've got on tap, please."

Himuro nods and as Takao tilts his head slightly in the newcomer's direction, the two of them share a knowing glance. It's a subtle direction, but if Himuro picked up on it (and he always does, the reliable angel), Takao can expect Himuro to only come when he's called. Not that he's ever nosy, unpleasant, or even overbearing, but this was potentially delicate work Takao was embarking on—a hunt that required all of his attention.

The guy hasn't looked up once since he's stood next to him and he finds himself wishing the place were more packed—an 'accidental' bump against his arm would be a fine excuse to strike up conversation. But no, he'll have to make do with the current circumstances... so he goes with something tried and true.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before."

The man does lift his gaze from the wooden bar at that. He turns to Takao, his mouth poised to answer, but he stops. Takao smiles, glad he nailed his first impression this well. Yeah... he's glad he nailed it but at the same time... _wow_.

He really hadn't been expecting to seduce a total knockout.

Deep, perfect emerald eyes stare into him from behind perfect, green eyelashes, seemingly—no, definitely—stunned. Takao unwittingly takes a glance at his jawline, then his lips, and actually finds himself  _lingering_ there. Which is all great, his prey definitely noticed that and anything that makes his intent clear is a good thing but... he definitely hasn't been this genuinely attracted to his prey in a long,  _long_ time. Hell, he didn't used to think he had a type, but if all of his conquests were just carbon copies of this guy for the rest of his life, he'd be fucking _into it_. Takao finds the way his mouth is parted just a bit, still stuck on whatever he'd intended to say before laying eyes on him, particularly endearing.

"Is this your first time here?" he asks, hoping to coax an answer out of him. Curious to what his voice sounds like.

"Uh—" The man finally comes back to his senses and blinks a few times. He even looks to his side a bit, presumably making sure Takao is talking to _him._ More words fail to follow and Takao smirks, coquettish but encouraging, before breaking their eye contact to glance at the other man's drink. He makes a bit of a show of that, cocking his head just a bit as he does, in the way he knows highlights his neck and collarbone just perfect—thank goodness he'd thought to wear a v-neck to work today.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, looking at him again.

His prey finally seems to realize that he's literally been gaping at Takao in lieu of actually answering and he... _blushes_. Honest to god,  _blushes—_ this imposingly tall, well-bred, broad-shouldered, mature young man just _blushed_ at him and looked away.

If that isn't the most painfully cute thing Takao's ever witnessed...

"Uh, it's just... just a water." He's fidgeting now, suddenly reaching for the near-empty glass. His long, elegant fingers trace against the condensation, push needlessly and then relax against the glass, repeatedly.

"You came to a bar and ordered water?" Takao asks, amusement not totally hidden in his voice. His aim isn't to tease him but he's pretty desperate to get this guy to talk more... to hear that surprisingly deep voice again.

"I, uh..." He licks his lips and doesn't finish the sentence. Takao concludes it must be because Himuro's arrived with his beer and he doesn't want to be overheard stating his reason for such chaste behavior—regardless of the fact that bartenders overhear any and everything _any_ way. Takao nods his thanks to Himuro and in the brief moment he's not totally focused on the task at hand, a hunger pang rips through him. He grits his teeth, _hard_ , and shifts his weight from one side to the other, using this as an opportunity to finally sit in the stool at his side. The young man seems startled at that, turning to look at him again, this time with confusion bordering on bewilderment in his expression. Takao just smiles.

"The bartenders can't make a tip off that—they might hate you if you're not careful. What do you want?" Takao asks, his instincts back in overdrive and his voice taking on an almost purr-like quality. "It's on me."

"I..." There's a pensive pause. "A gin and tonic would be... would suffice."

Takao smiles, glad he took him up on his offer (because who turns down a free drink?), and signals Himuro who strides back over in a matter of seconds. He places the order with him then returns his attention to the nervous man next to him.

"Your name?"

"...Midorima."

"Hm... Midorima-kun." Takao tests the name out on his tongue. He doesn't miss the slight chill Midorima-kun exhibits. Good.

"I was right, wasn't I? First time here?"

Midorima-kun just nods stiffly and keeps his eyes on the glass—no, Himuro seems to have cleared that, so he's staring at his hands. Takao can't really blame him either—they are quite beautiful. He thinks they're gorgeous enough that they might even mesmerize the owner on occasion.

"And what do you think of it?"

Midorima-kun sighs then gives the room a cursory glance, seeming to purposely avoid looking at Takao again.

That was... worrying.

"The interior is far nicer than the exterior would have one believe. The bar staff are well trained and seem polite. The lighting and noise level is reasonable."

"Yeah, you came on a good night. Weekends are a whole other story in that regard."

"There are a lot of... men."

Takao chuckles. "There are _only_ men—this is kind of a men's space, you know?"

 "I... Yes, I gathered that."

 _Definitely_ a virgin, he's sure of it now. Takao does a silent prayer of thanks, hoping he isn't jinxing himself by jumping to conclusions. Takao lets the icebreakers flow out of him instinctively, to get Midorima-kun talking. The guys he goes after always seem stunned at first and then nervous, so he always chats them up casually to make them comfortable. But Takao realizes this guy is different. It's not that he isn't nervous—the way he's barely touched his drink and only occasionally makes fleeting eye contact with Takao is a clear assurance that he is. It's that... Takao smiles unconsciously.

He's _suspicious.  
_ Which is _interesting_.

The way Takao's hunger rips through him reflects as pure radiance on the outside... and since he's near tears with how badly his muscles ache for this guy, he _knows_ he looks incredible and he's _certain_ he's interested. His meal from the other night must have lied about being a virgin judging by the piss-poor bump he'd gotten from him—Takao isn't even counting it since the hunger is exactly as bad as it was three nights ago when he'd rushed through his tried and true methods of seduction (and probably, _somehow_ , made it _far_ too clear he was looking for a virgin). So why does it seem as though Midorima-kun isn't sold yet? Takao conducts a quick mental rundown of his next potential steps. He waits for a lull in their conversation and allows it to stretch on a little too long.

"Sorry." Takao straightens up, turning himself to face more towards the bar. "Looks like I'm bothering you."

Takao's periphery doesn't miss that Midorima-kun glances at him again. It feels like he might say something but he stays quiet. Takao's the one who plays with the condensation on his glass this time.

"I'll just finish this and leave you alone. If you don't mind me sitting here a little longer."

"I don't—" Takao had to resist from lifting an eyebrow. "I don't... mind you. You aren't a bother."

Takao turned back toward Midorima-kun, mimicking a sigh of relief as he smiled again, more reserved this time. "Well, that's good! ...Truth is, I came over here to talk to you. I would have been bummed out if I'd been dismissed that quickly."

Midorima-kun scrunches his brow but his eyes go soft. He finally takes a sip from the two tiny straws in his drink. "Why would you want to talk to me?" The look in his eyes puts a hidden emphasis on 'you' which is just... has he _seen_ himself...

"I found you intriguing, isn't that enough of a reason?" Midorima-kun's silence indicates it might not be so Takao continues. "I tend to like serious, brooding types, anyway."

Midorima-kun turns away a bit. "I'm not brooding."

Takao laughs genuinely at that but feels a little nervous. This is a bit too much like fishing for his liking. If his timing is off, he'll lose a lot of progress. If he pulls too hard, he might just reel him in... but risks snapping the connection. And if this were a night where he wasn't on the verge of feeling faint, he might have headed home and tried the next night but... another pang soars through him and he digs his fingers into his knee.

"Forgive me for being presumptuous then... And if you're not brooding, what's up with the depressed look on your face?"

Midorima-kun mutters something short about work and Takao offers an 'ah' in response, inching in just a little closer as he does. He's definitely being slicker than he was the other night, but he knows he's rushing it, he knows this progression could be more natural, but he _really_ can't help it—the more he talks to this guy, the more he looks at him. The more details he soaks up, the more physically attracted he is to him. And the hornier he gets, the _worse his body hurts._ Somehow he does manage to get through a second round of drinks between the two of them before he throws all of his careful preparation to the wind and even though a large part of him is screaming _NO DON'T DO IT_ and he hates himself for the lack of finesse in what he's about to say, the words leave his mouth anyway.

"So... were you planning on sitting here, fiddling with your straws all night or were you going to take me home and fuck me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't realized how badly I needed to use the word 'coquettish' until now. Sorry if Takao seems super duper manipulative here, but demons gotta eat! He himself is the Takao we know and love, so we'll get to see more of that later.
> 
> Incubi and succubi here are like our vampires. It's as if we had an alternate timeline where Vlad the Impaler did creepy sex crimes instead of impaled people (*shudders* that sounds _super dark_ ), so Count Dracula was written as an incubus.
> 
> And in an alternate timeline of _that_ world, Vlad _actually was_ a demon.  
>  _That's_ the universe this story takes place in, so to speak.
> 
> I'm literally a sick person, so I've no idea how frequently this will update! But I'm very excited to finally get the ball rolling and there will be smmmmut in the next chapter! I'm curious to hear any thoughts and happy to answer questions in the comments section!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. blissed out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *frenzied sounds of human/demon copulation*

Takao's groundwork is either laid down well enough that it somehow works despite his sudden, tactless word vomit or this guy _clearly_ came to this bar on a mission—and either way, Takao doesn't think it actually matters. After going red,  _all the way up to his adorable ears_ , he'd sputtered something about stranger danger and not even knowing Takao's name but that had been easily assuaged by a slick smile and a nearly whispered, " _Kazunari_ " into his ear. And that was that.

Now he's in the passenger's seat of Midorima-kun's car, making laughable attempts at casual conversation while completely unable to tear his eyes away from his particularly enticing meal.

"You look nervous," Takao notes, a smile on his lips and amusement in his voice.

Midorima-kun doesn't say anything back but he does steal a quick glance at Takao again and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Takao almost feels bad teasing him, _almost_ —but he's _damn cute_ when he does it and he's always relished in cute reactions.

 

✧

 

"Nice place," Takao says, but he might as well be lying because he's not paying any attention to his surroundings as the door shuts behind him. He made it. Thank _god_.

"Thank you." Midorima-kun's back is facing him. Takao takes a quiet step toward him as he sets his keys down on the kitchen counter. Whether or not the place is nice, Takao certainly notices that it's _clean_. Midorima-kun poises his finger over a switch, apparently contemplating whether or not the moon and city lights are enough for what they are about to embark on. Takao can see him just fine, actually really likes the way this man looks in the near-dark.

"Midorima-kun? Where's the bedroom?" he pipes up, more than ready to get the show on the road already.

Midorima-kun seems to almost jump at his voice, like he almost forgot Takao was there—or more like he had almost forgotten they'd come here with _that_ express purpose. "...This way," he finally says, apparently having made up his mind that yes, _yes_ , he is going through with this, yes, he is going to have a one night stand with a stranger. "And just Midorima is fine."

Takao gently shuts the bedroom door behind him and that's when his prey finally turns around again. The curtains are drawn and the low light from the window illuminates a face that is equal parts determination and something else... something along the lines of abject terror.

"Jeez, am I that scary?" Takao chuckles softly as he approaches him. He places his hands against the taller man's chest, then applies the slightest bit of pressure at his nails before dragging them down, managing to get a decent feel for the toned body he's set out to defile. Midorima's breath hitches and he stares at Takao intensely, still opting to keep his thoughts to himself. Takao smiles up at him, decides he flat out _loves_ how much of a difference in height there is between them, and becomes even more excited to further admire his physique. He brings one of his hands back up to pull Midorima down at the neck before mumbling, "C'mere..."

Their lips meet and the taller man shuts his eyes immediately. Takao watches him intently for a moment during this first kiss, notes the way his brow is furrowed in concentration, and feels a bit of relief at yet another indication of inexperience. He then closes his eyes, too, parting his lips slightly and closing them yet again in order to begin a second, harder kiss as he lifts to his toes and pulls Midorima even closer against him. Midorima's hands hold Takao at the small of his back to support him and Takao's grateful for it because _damn_ is he tall. Takao even lets himself get caught up a bit as he slips his tongue into the other man's mouth, now bringing his hand up to join the other and clasp around his neck, deepening the kiss and warranting a few hot pants from the bigger man. Their kiss is a slow build to what it eventually becomes; something thorough and filthy and undeniably more sexual than sensual. Takao lowers himself back to the soles of his feet—Midorima follows, not allowing their mouths to part for even the briefest of moments—and lowers his arms to start unbuckling his prey's belt when suddenly Midorima pulls away.

"I..." He begins through unsteady breath. Takao is enraptured both by his reddened lips and what he's hoping he might say.

"Yeah?" Takao stills his hands, the room now very quiet.

"I..." Midorima's blushing now and Takao's eyes practically sparkle. "I've never done this before."

"Never hooked up with a stranger before?" Takao asks innocently, hoping to prod out a second, more appetizing truth.

"No, I mean... I've never—" It's not the easiest to tell in such dim lighting but Takao knows Midorima's blushing harder. The taller man tugs at Takao's shirt where he's been holding him this whole time and... somehow Takao can tell from that gesture alone.

"You mean you're a virgin?"

Midorima nods. The look of apprehension in his eyes indicates he's gearing up for some sort of rejection. Takao smiles.

"As if that matters..." he says in a breath that's part laughter and part sigh of relief. He brings Midorima down for another kiss and this is all _comical_ to Takao right now because of what a complete lie and a complete truth those words were—it's _all_ that matters but at the same time, he'd felt this strong need to let this guy feel like, let him  _know_ it's nothing to worry about. Because... well, it isn't. If Takao was human and this was a normal hook up, there'd be no way in hell he'd reject this gorgeous, adorable person over something as  _endearing_ as still having his virginity intact. ...But he isn't human.

And Midorima won't remember any of this anyway.

Takao goes back to unbuckling his partner's belt to distract himself from the looming thoughts now threatening to spoil his mood—especially the one about why he's spending energy caring about what his prey hears tonight. He reaches his hand into the front of Midorima's pants, fondling the prize inside, and the virgin nearly chokes against Takao's lips. The sound is music to Takao's ears and he's impressed by the sheer girth of the dick he's rubbing against—he smiles and bites Midorima's bottom lip to let him know as much. Midorima flinches, but lets him.

"So this is the first time you've ever been touched like this?" Takao asks, his breath hot and teasing against the other man's mouth. He applies pressure and strokes, leading Midorima to do little more than offer a shudder and a moan as an answer. He observes him and can feel his hunger again, for the first time in a long stretch of time, building up, waiting to hit him in another wave. As fun as this has all been, it really is time to address his own needs. Takao pulls at Midorima's bottom lip again and gives his cock one good squeeze through his underwear before lightly pushing him away. He pushes him some more, prompting Midorima to sit at the foot of his bed.

Takao peels his shirt off slowly and from the bottom up, making sure he's got all of his prey's attention. He doesn't just want him to want him, he wants him to _need_ him; that's what works for Takao. Once he's got his shirt off, he makes eye contact with Midorima, who appears to have not moved a muscle since he sat down. Takao's gaze wanders down to his own hands for a moment, leading Midorima to shift his stare, too, as Takao slowly undoes the button and soon the zipper of his jeans. Though he hasn't touched himself yet, the intensity in Midorima's eyes as he looks him over, as he wrings out every last moment of him undressing, is enough to help him sport a faint bulge in his boxer shorts. He sees Midorima swallow, no doubt his mouth having gone dry. With his jeans and socks kicked off to the side, Takao bares his neck and parts his lips just a tad before he reaches into his underwear and begins stroking himself. This is when Midorima's eyes go haywire and he can't seem to choose between looking at his face, his bare torso, or the hand in his shorts... and Takao smiles, he really can't help himself. Midorima's breathing's gone up and he looks positively delicious; the tent pushing against his underwear is huge now, poking its way out from where his pants are undone.

Takao finally pulls off the last bothersome item of clothing, leaving him sinful and naked as the day he was born. He walks over to Midorima now, licks his lips, and drops to his knees. He gets comfortable between Midorima's legs, even parting them a bit to allow him room, then he tugs at the bottom of his shirt, hoping he gets the clue. Midorima does look at him questioningly for a second but something clicks and he tentatively begins unbuttoning his shirt, starting at the collar. Perfect. Takao's very interested in seeing Midorima's package up close like this and he palms the taller man's cock through his underwear once, twice, fully taking in the heat and the shape before pulling his pants and underwear down to his ankles in one swift, practiced motion.

It's... _huge._

Takao smiles to himself, almost _giddy_ about it. He'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't a slut for size. He glances up at Midorima, who is breathing unevenly with one of his hands over his mouth. Takao revels in the gaze he's bestowing upon him and continues to look him in the eyes as he sticks his tongue out and drags it against the  head of his dick. Midorima lets out a stifled moan and his breathing picks up even further. Takao gives him a couple of firm pumps before licking him again, this time swirling his tongue around the entirety of the head before taking it into his mouth. He closes his eyes reflexively then because now _..._

 _Now_ he can feel his hunger waning, if only a little. The threat of a new wave of pain dulls, definitely still there, but certainly subsiding. He bobs his head down slow then pulls himself back just as slow, hollowing his cheeks and applying pressure on the frenulum once he's at the head again. Midorima is breathing with all of his being now and Takao begins to toy with his own member. He's happy with the reaction he's getting—there's a chance his prey might not survive this and if that happens... hell, he fucking _deserves_ _to enjoy himself, at least_.

It's been about thirty seconds of this blow job when Midorima's hand shoots out for Takao's head. He moans around the cock in his mouth, but also takes that as a sign that this virgin is _very_ close to coming. Takao gives him one more bob for good measure, really drawing out the wet, filthy sound his mouth makes on his way back up, and the uncharacteristically loud moan and fist in his hair lets him know he's definitely right. Takao pulls off of him and Midorima's hips arch into the air a bit at the loss. He'd had his eyes closed for some time now but he opens them again, seemingly confused and definitely disappointed.

"Lay down," Takao orders before stroking the muscular thighs at his sides. Takao is grateful when Midorima takes the unspoken cue to also move up entirely on the bed—he's met many a virgin that just followed instructions exactly as they were given. Takao reaches for his jeans on the floor, quickly retrieving a condom and his most inconspicuous bottle of lube from his pocket—it isn't his preferred brand but he hadn't left home that morning thinking he'd be in such desperate need of nourishment and this is his backup for just such an occasion. He strides over to the bed, lube and condom in hand, then takes a moment to soak in his prey.

Midorima's on his back, cock hard as hell, looking stiff and even a bit nervous... but he also sits up a bit to get a good look at Takao's naked form. Takao smirks at that, nearly troubled at just how cute this human is. He places one hand on the bed, then swings his leg over and straddles him in the next movement. He holds the condom up.

"Have you put one of these on before?"

Midorima swallows hard and shakes his head no.

"Hm..." Takao lightly pushes against Midorima's dick as he thinks, the brief contact leaving a sticky bead of precum on his ass. "Did you wanna try?"

"I... I can." His voice is low, pained... desperate.

"You can... so does that mean you don't want to?" Takao raises an eyebrow and smiles, curious. Midorima's eyes don't waver from his and he rests his hands on Takao's hips, gingerly at first, then kneads against the bone with his thumbs. Observing that, he hazards another guess. "Does that mean you want _me_ to?"

He's tearing the wrapper open with his teeth before Midorima even attempts to make a verbal affirmation. This human has a funny way of communicating... but somehow Takao gets it. Which he likes—no, he _really_ likes. Takao smiles even more and leans forward to kiss Midorima on the lips.

"You're cute," he informs him, voice so content and sensual, it's nearly a purr. Midorima gawks at that and Takao giggles a little. Finally applying the condom, Takao rolls it down Midorima's length at a patient pace, knowing that too much stimulation will lead to a really short ride for them—and he'd _very much_ like to get some actual mileage out of this one. "You still good?"

Midorima nods furiously, leading Takao to realize how dumb of a question that was. He smiles, pouring some lube into his off hand, then reaching behind himself.

"Do me a favor?" he asks in a huff, recapping and tossing the small bottle to the ground.

"A-Anything."

Takao feels a predatory swell of pride in response to that answer and he can't keep back another devilish smile.

"Hold me..." He grabs Midorima's hand and places it squarely on his butt cheek. He then pulls with him, leaving his hole partly exposed. "Like this." He bats his eyelashes. "The other one, too." When he obliges him, Takao leans forward far enough that he's laying flat on Midorima's chest and abdomen and that's when he goes from circling his entrance to pushing his middle finger in. It's an easy glide for him, both familiar and pleasurable, so he ups it to two fingers immediately. This time he moans, loud and breathy, mouth open right against Midorima's chest. He hums as he drags his fingers in and out of himself and when he inserts a third, he ruts against the bigger man's stomach, gasping at the heat where their bodies meet, the wetness of his own precum, and the friction of skin against skin. He lets out a moan that he knows would best be described as slutty and grinds down against Midorima again as he loosens himself up; this time Midorima groans with him and pulls his ass further apart.

This was good, this was _really_ good. Good enough that Takao wasn't acting at all. Putting on a show, well, of course, but _definitely_ not acting.

He pulls his fingers out, then shifts back a bit so he's poised right against Midorima's tip. He lifts himself up and stares at, hell _into_ him as he sinks down, one hand braced against Midorima's stomach and the other languidly pulling at his own cock. Takao moans openly as Midorima's dick pushes into him, filling him up even more than he anticipated; his voice is accompanied by the sound of Midorima's shocked, stuttered groans and the sight of his chest rising and falling heavily.

"That good, huh?" he teases. Midorima shoots him a look then, something that is probably meant to be a glare, but he clearly isn't able to muster up the edge required right now. Takao chuckles, finally seated so it's just skin on skin. He gives Midorima a moment to compose himself but doesn't stop stroking himself in the meantime. When it looks like he's calmed down, Takao lifts himself up again.

"Uhn..." He closes his eyes and knits his brow, stilling his stroking hand as he sinks back down. " _Fuck..._ " He realizes that he might not need to encourage this orgasm on from the beginning. Midorima's thickness is just that— _thick._ Takao honestly feels a little dizzy when he realizes just how much he's been stretched open to accommodate him. He opens his eyes again, trailing his hands up, feeling up the defined muscles under beautiful, pale skin. He repeats the slow up and down motion a few more times, then picks up the speed, now riding him in earnest. Midorima's grip on Takao is more lax then it was when he was fingering himself, no longer holding him open so much as holding on for dear life. Takao grits his teeth despite himself.

_Gods, I hope this doesn't kill him._

Midorima thrusts occasionally and moans underneath him, softly when Takao slows down and keeps his movements simple; loudly when Takao sways his hips in circular motions and rides him hard. There's always that honest responsiveness in his prey and while it can lean toward awkward at times, Takao only finds himself entranced by Midorima's reactions. His voice is so deep and his eyes are so intense, boring into him, wordlessly soaking in as much as he can. Takao continues to grind deeper onto him as he reaches for Midorima's hands and encourages them to squeeze _harder._

And now he feels it.

 _Fuck_ , can he feel it now—the hunger subsiding. The last impending wave retreats entirely and the pain is replaced by something better, something intoxicating. He's never been entirely sure if this is how feeding is _supposed_ to feel since he only does it when he absolutely needs to... he thinks it's supposed to feel filling, slow and purposeful... but instead Takao always experiences it as a rush, a hot rush of lust and satisfaction that comes in almost as strong as the pain once did. It feels a lot like he's melting and he moans harder, louder as that feeling overtakes him.

Takao licks his lips and tilts his head back. He picks up the pace to as fast as he can get it, and gets exactly the response he hoped for when Midorima's body goes tense and he loudly utters an expletive. He's no longer thrusting every now and then, he's thrusting for real now, grabbing at Takao's buttocks even harder, _pushing him down_ even.

Takao writhes a bit, turning it into a twist against the cock inside him, because he can feel the other thing now... he can feel himself changing. He glances down at Midorima, leaning in to kiss him and—whoops.

"Take these off," he says, voice hushed. He doesn't wait for Midorima to register what he's just said and he pulls his glasses from his face before crushing their lips together, then moaning into his mouth as their movements become even harsher. " _Mmm..._ _god,_ Midorima," he moans and closes his eyes before resuming the kiss, garnering a throaty groan from the taller man. Takao's just placed the glasses to the side when his body jolts.

" _Fuck!_ " he spits out, breaking the kiss, licking a spot of salty skin on Midorima's neck, and grinding onto him even further. He runs his tongue over one of his canines and feels that it's much longer and sharper than just a minute ago. The feeling of his spine pressing tight against the skin on his back is like a good, deep stretch and ecstasy blows through him as he clenches down on his prey. When he opens his eyes there's the slightest tint of orange to the edge of his vision, indicating his irises have changed color. Takao's a little disappointed he won't be lifting himself to watch Midorima when he comes but it's well worth it to not deal with him freaking out.

Midorima is close, Midorima is _very_ close and Takao knows it because his entire _being_ —not his body—feels as if it's lifting an enormous weight; the weight of his prey's life force, what he's been after from the start. It feels like fire wherever their skin meets, the hands grabbing onto him are sure to leave marks, and the length inside of him is hard as steel... which is miraculous timing because it's a rarity that Takao is _also_ about to come when his prey is.

" _Ah..._ Midorima... You feel... fucking _perfect..._ " he groans into his ear before sucking on it because he fucking _means_ it.

"K-Kazunari..." the baritone rumbles against Takao's ear, sending a shiver through him. His voice is strained with what must be the discipline it took not to come far sooner than this. "I'm going to... C-can I?"

"Come." Takao feels the pull on Midorima's life force become easier, lighter. His body's absorbing it now and he can feel it slowly pass through his skin, then permeate his muscles, his veins. But it isn't enough and his brow knits, desperation even leading him to tug at his own cock harshly, his precum slicking over him almost like lube.

Now Takao's the one that wants it.  
Hell, he literally _needs_ it.

" _Please_ ," he begs, his voice choked out in a sob.

That does it. Midorima lets out several loud, long moans, his back arches up from the mattress for a few last deep thrusts, and he grips onto Takao's hips, keeping him in place.

"F-fuck, _yes!_ " Takao shouts, his own back arching as Midorima's cock pulses inside of him. The pull suddenly becomes a  _surge_ and he's flooded not only with the rush of pleasure as he climaxes but a wave of what could only be described as... _tangible_ satisfaction. Takao's moans only become lewder and grow in volume as he comes, hot semen spurting out into his fingers and onto the taut muscle below him. His moaning finally fades into faint breathing as he comes back down, attempting to regain his bearings after his mind going blank. Takao shivers once, then a few more times as he shifts forward, Midorima's now limp cock slipping out.

He's exhausted and panting... but he's sated.

"...That should be enough for a few weeks..." he mumbles to himself, sighing out of habit. He pulls away from his prey's neck and looks down.

Midorima's eyes are closed and he looks... totally blissed out. Takao smiles faintly at the slightly parted lips and the lack of a crease in his brow before frowning, apprehensive of this next part. 

Lightly pressing two fingers to the skin right under Midorima's jaw, he bites his lip. When he feels nothing, his fang pierces his lip a little, and he swallows hard. He presses just a little harder, his own heart racing and the taste of blood unpleasant on his tongue.

There's a pulse.

Takao lets out a sigh and his eyes flutter closed as he mouths 'thank you' to no one in particular. With that, the edge has finally worn off and the rest of him slips into beautiful, _beautiful_ afterglow.

It doesn't take long for Takao to get himself cleaned up and out of Midorima's apartment. His clothes are all in one pile near the foot of the bed, he disposes of the condom in the wastebasket near the nightstand, and once he finds the bathroom, the first thing in sight is a towel. Hoping it isn't a problem, he wipes himself off, then wanders over to the bed to wipe Midorima off, too. By the time he does that, he can even see his chest rising and falling and that makes Takao smile again.

He pulls out his phone and opens the rideshare app that he downloaded specifically for hunts. Lucky for him, the wait is only four minutes.

Takao cracks his neck and rubs it.

All in all, a good night.

 

✧

 

"Well, don't _you_ look a whole lot better?"

Takao smiles wide as he approaches the booth Imayoshi is sitting in, a beer in hand. The bar is comfortably full tonight and the good mood is infectious, reminding Takao of why he loves it here in the first place. Also, Himuro just called him cute for no reason and that had taken him from a great mood to an _excellent_ one.

"I _am_ a whole lot better." Takao sits down and Imayoshi returns his smile. "That virgin was..." He sighs. A gorgeous virgin with a big dick and a tidy room—Takao's seen some real shitholes since he started hunting—who managed to survive his feeding. "Just wonderful." Imayoshi looks skeptical but amused.

"If he was so great, why are you back so soon?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He was _so_ great, I wanted to come here just for the drinks and conversation, Ima- _kun_."

Imayoshi laughs appreciatively at that. "Impressive! I'm glad we're back on friendly terms then, Kazunari."

Takao rolls his eyes. "Oh, please, you know how I get." Imayoshi knows almost everything there is to know about Takao, whether he likes it or not—kind of the burden of them growing up together. As he takes a sip of his drink, he notices the coat in the spot next to Imayoshi, then looks at the booth's coat hanger and sees Imayoshi's standard wax cotton jacket. "Who else is here?"

Imayoshi gives off one of his impish grins and looks over at the bar. Takao follows his gaze.

"Aomine?"

Imayoshi nods happily. "Yep."

"Uh, he knows this is a gay bar, right?"

"Well, the name is 'Cheeky'," Imayoshi replies. "It's either that or a strip club."

"Right... but does he _know_ that?"

"He made a throwaway remark the other day about wondering if female prey and male prey taste different, so I enlightened him."

Takao frowns. "They... don't." Right? While it's true that how feeding _feels_ probably differs from demon to demon, everyone agrees that it feels the same no matter the human... right?

"That's not true, dear, it's different for everyone."

Takao's frown doesn't budge and he looks at Imayoshi warily.

"...You're just curious to see if he'll hook up with a guy."

Imayoshi smiled and tilted his head to the side, in an attempt at a look of innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

"You're scary." Takao looks at Aomine again, probably waiting on drinks for Imayoshi and himself. While he's definitely being flirted with by the guy next to him, he doesn't seem to need rescuing... he's either totally oblivious to it or it bothers him a lot less than Takao expected it would. He shrugs and chuckles.

"Ah, look who's dropped by."

Takao tears his eyes away from the bar to the entrance, despite wanting to see how Aomine might react to a hand on his thigh. The door is just now closing behind a tall, young man with green hair and glasses.

Takao blinks, surprised, if relieved, to see him up so soon. While he can't be sure since he never sticks around, Takao's under the impression that his prey are pretty disoriented when they first wake up... and he _knows_ his memory's been obliterated. Most people wouldn't be up to going out the same day they wake up naked in bed with a condom in their trash and no memory of who they were with or how they got home.

"Midorima again," Takao comments.

"'Midorima,' huh?" Imayoshi ponders. "Well, he's still as attractive as ever. Too bad someone had to go and defile him before I had the chance..." Imayoshi cracks a smile. "Well, I could always do with a midnight snack."

Takao bites the inside of his cheek. Imayoshi is dead right about Midorima looking good. There is a considerable amount of weariness in his face, however, which only makes sense considering he had a ton of energy literally drained from him the night before. Takao feels a bit guilty but reminds himself—here he is, up and at 'em.

"He must not remember coming here at all last night," Takao says. Midorima's approaching the bar now in a similar manner to last time. He returns his attention to Imayoshi and his drink.

"Yeah, seems like it... Takao's infamous mind melt strikes again."

" _Don't_ call it that!" Takao snaps, but it comes off whiny. Ever since he told him about his first hunt back when they were teenagers, Imayoshi teases him at every chance he gets. Takao's usually capable of giving as good as he gets, but this has never been funny to him. Despite that, though, it seems the kid in him just can't ever get across  _just_ how unfunny he actually finds it.

"Maybe he'll be stuck in a loop. Ah, but I guess that would only happen if you nailed him again."

Takao sips at his beer in annoyed silence, secretly fuming and staring daggers at Imayoshi.

"I'm just kidding, Kazu—oh, look at that!" Imayoshi's voice lifts in an almost child-like wonder. "Aomine's getting someone's number!"

"What, seriously?!" Takao whips his head back to the bar and—dear god, he sure is.

Imayoshi places a hand over his mouth, feigning a proud parent about to cry at their child's recital. "I can't believe this, I... I'm so happy."

It sure is quite the sight to take in. They've both known Aomine since they were teens and through Takao's discovery that he heavily prefers dick and Imayoshi's experimenting across all genders and relationship types, neither of them have ever heard him express interest in anything that isn't explicitly female. Yet here he is, using his cocky, flirty grin on the boy that's been chatting him up for the past few minutes. (Has he even ordered the drinks yet?) There's a weird moment, a half-second, where Takao accidentally makes eye contact with Midorima, who was apparently looking in the same direction as him—awkward.

"Congratulations, Ima-kun."

"Thank you, Kazunari." He sighs dreamily. "I've been plotting," Takao's ears perk at how he actually admitted to  _plotting_. "How to get Aomine to try new things for years..." Takao watches as his senpai's face slowly goes from serene to discontent, all with a smile attached. "To think it was this easy... I'm actually pretty annoyed."

Takao laughs out loud.

"Oi..." Imayoshi warns.

"That's what you get!" Takao says, laughter bubbling out of him.

"No, I mean, heads up." Imayoshi gestures back in the direction of the bar. Takao follows his lead and—oh.

Midorima is walking this way. Takao stares since his conquest from last night seems to be mostly focused on getting through the small crowd of people with the least amount of bodily contact.

"Um." Takao blinks, not sure what to think. "Do you think he's coming over here?"

"It looks like it..." Imayoshi sounds more wary than curious for once.

Takao tries to look elsewhere and convince himself he's got to be headed for an empty table or... something. Takao returns his attention to his beer, taking a big sip.

"Anyway, I forgot to ask—did you get those photos I sent you?" When Imayoshi doesn't answer, Takao looks at him. He's looking up. So Takao looks up...

To a tall, young man with green hair, green eyes, and glasses. Takao licks his lips at the sight of him on reflex because as tired as he looks—yeah, still just as hot.

"Can I help you?" Takao asks. Midorima's eyes pierce him with a higher intensity that he never quite received last night, likely because the only time he'd maintained eye contact for longer than a few seconds was when Takao was practically galloping on his dick. He still hasn't answered so Takao smiles a bit... not really sure of what else to do here.

"K...Kazunari, right?"

Takao freezes and he can feel Imayoshi go still, as well.

"Excuse me?"

Midorima's face remains serious but he blushes a little now.

"Your name is Kazunari, isn't it?"

"I—uh..." Takao glances over at Imayoshi with his mouth still open, in total shock. Imayoshi isn't doing much better; in fact, he looks freaked the fuck out. "Y-yes. It is." After a pause.

"How... do you know that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (someone shoot me, i can't believe i caved and and wrote "naked as the day he was born" ._.)
> 
> Sorry Shin-chan was so quiet, he was a little too swept up in sex allomones to put words together. (As sexy as the word 'pheromones' is, apparently that only applies between members of the same species?? Boo, science.)
> 
> clarifications:  
> \- Imayoshi, Takao, and Aomine went to the same middle school and high school.  
> \- This was only a partial (very partial) transformation for Takao.
> 
> Next chapter we find out how Midorima woke up that morning and what led him to remember Takao!  
> Thank you for readingggg, please let me know what you thought! ;]


	3. "That was pretty cute~"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> worst. hangover. _ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the tense switch is weird, it's just that technically the first part is a flashback. *shrugs*  
> enjoy otherwise~

Midorima Shintarou's day had been a rough one.

He'd awoken very slowly that morning from a deep, dreamless sleep, his eyes met with too much sunlight and a blurry ceiling. After a few dazed blinks weren’t enough to regain his bearings, he raised a hand up to rub his eyes and was startled by how sore his arm was. He tried sitting up but his abdomen ached—in fact, the more he came to his senses, the more it felt like he’d fallen down a flight of stairs.

...Had he fallen down a flight of stairs?

His cellphone began to ring before he could follow that line of thought any further. Midorima groaned through a dry throat as he attempted to support just the smallest amount of weight on his arm. His body caved and he slumped back into his sheets. He couldn't do it. He couldn't _get up_. The phone had long stopped ringing by the time Midorima finally managed to sit up at the edge of his bed. And by then, he'd also noticed he was, for some indiscernible reason, completely naked. Ignoring how parched he felt for the moment, he racked his brains, trying to remember what could have happened that led to this bizarre fatigue he was experiencing.

Then his phone rang again.

Pushing through the soreness, Midorima brought himself to his feet. It took one wobbly step forward for a rush of lightheadedness to take him by surprise, and it took the subsequent stumbled step backward for seemingly his entire stomach to flip. Shintarou knew what was coming and covered his mouth, managing to grab the wastebasket near his nightstand before his insides evacuated. He continued retching until his phone stopped ringing and even then his stomach felt as if it were just on the edge of betraying him again. He could make out a pair of his pants on the floor near the foot of the bed, where the ringing had come from—would he ever make it that far?

When Midorima finally got a hold of his phone, five miserable, nauseous minutes later, his eyes widened at the total missed calls: _10_. Dread filled him and just before he checked the time, his screen changed, taken over by the name 'Akashi Seijuurou'. He cleared his throat as best he could and pressed the answer button.

“H-hello?”

“Shintarou.” There was a short sigh on the other end, along with the sound of a phone softly ringing in the background. “Where are you? I have been calling you for the last hour.”

“Last hour…?” he repeated, voice hoarse. Midorima glanced at his watch (god, had he worn it to bed?) and his eyes widened again. _Shit._

“Did something happen? It is very unlike you to keep others waiting...”

It was 11:34 am and he'd had an interview at The Akashi Research Institute... at 11:00. Late was a _gross_ understatement. His nausea multiplied at this revelation.

“My apologies, Akashi,” he mumbled, rubbing at his temples with his free hand, his stomach churning and his thoughts a mess. “I… I am not feeling well.” There was a bit of silence before Akashi answered back.

“Very well then.” He sounded… less than pleased. It was understandable… while Midorima was sure securing this interview hadn’t required Akashi to pull strings very _hard_ … a favor was a favor, and this had been a rather large one. Midorima thought to explain, wondering if he should mention rescheduling now or wait until he could apologize in person, when his stomach flipped again and he reached for the wastebasket.

“Shintarou? Shintarou?” he could hear faintly from his phone’s speaker, held far away. When Midorima was sure he wouldn’t need to do that again, he brought the phone back to his ear. This was getting disgusting. At least it was just Akashi on the line...

“I am sincerely… forgive my negligence. I know this was a favor.” He felt faint again and an uncomfortable sweat now settled in.

“Do not be ridiculous, Shintarou. You clearly sound ill.” There was another pause and Midorima faintly heard Akashi addressing someone else, though he couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I will see what I can do about potentially arranging another interview. I can’t say how soon it will be considering your sudden absence… but I will let you know. Do you have the proper means to care for yourself?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. In that case, do feel better. We can make arrangements to meet some time next week.”

Midorima thanked him and hung up. He vaguely felt like he should be more worried but if he was honest with himself, working for Akashi’s group had never really appealed to him. From what he knew about them, he wasn't even sure why they would hire him in the first place; the corporate-backed institute focused on genetics and that didn't match Midorima's academic background in anatomy. Even if he managed to secure a researcher job there through his connection to Akashi alone, it would amount to him doing work in a field of study wildly outside of his preference... hell, outside of his _expertise_.

One thing at a time, though. Beginning with his current, pathetic state.

Midorima hoped that a shower would help, at least a bit, even keeping the water warm instead of hot to stave off the lightheadedness—in the end, it did nothing for his muscle soreness even it did get rid of the grimy feel of dried sweat on his skin. Looking himself over in the mirror, Midorima inspected his skin for bruises but found none—which made no sense at all for the amount of pain he was in. It had to have been brought on by some sort of physical impact... It had to and yet his body showed no physical signs that anything was wrong.

Aside from the ghost-like pallor of his skin.

Just what the hell happened to him??

After cringing through the disposal of the contents of his wastebasket, getting dressed in the most comfortable loungewear he had available, and lying down for another hour, Midorima shuffled his way over to the kitchen to dredge up some breakfast. His car keys were at the counter and once he'd eaten, he mustered up the strength to get downstairs and check that his car actually _was_ there—it was.

But that was almost as disconcerting as it was relieving. 

Sure he’d brought his car home, but had he even driven it? He’d had some errands to run earlier in the day yesterday and he did remember coming home in the late afternoon… but what happened after that? He had obviously left the house again but when? Why? Where had he gone?

He got absolutely nothing when he tried to recall any of the events past his coming home in the afternoon and briefly sitting in front of his computer. It had been to search for something, he’d specifically meant to look _something_ up... so he resolved to check his browser history.

...And apparently, Midorima had gotten pretty bored.

It only made sense that the beginning of his browsing history from yesterday afternoon had been a cursory look through some job listings. The prospects in the general area always left a lot to be desired but it seemed he'd actually clicked on a few of them—none of which he remembered, so he made a mental note to give them another thorough look later. After a few minutes of that, he'd moved on to looking at a coat he'd been planning on purchasing some time soon. Then he'd gotten even  _more_ bored, wandered onto a few of his preferred pornography sites, and clicked on a few videos. His brow scrunched and he sighed in annoyance with himself; his job searches went like this a lot lately. He chose to ignore the timestamps on the porn so he could remain ignorant about exactly how long he'd spent giving in to his baser desires, lest he fall from annoyance to self-loathing... And finally, the last pages in yesterday's history were a search for local bars.

Then the clarification of _'gay bars near me.'_

Shintarou had visited some bar homepages, lots of local business review sites—he'd done this before, did it once a week lately. But this search seemed to be more extensive; he'd clicked on and looked up far more options than he usually did before the nerves and the embarrassment and the feelings of social inadequacy took over and he closed the entire browser window. This time, the last page in his history was a Google Maps page—with directions to a bar named Cheeky.

 

✦

 

When Midorima arrives at this bar 'Cheeky', he finds the exterior rather unremarkable but parks his car anyway. Sure, the place isn't much to look at but his initial impression is outweighed by the the importance of him, _possibly_ , blacking out here. He'd had the entire day to discern the cause of his severe lapse in memory and once he'd understood his internet activity... well, using inductive reasoning, it seems to be the only answer. It undoubtedly doesn't match up with  _him_  as a person, but he has no idea what happened, now does he?

There are a few people hanging around near the entrance—all of them smoking and conversing—and Midorima avoids making eye contact (and breathing in too deeply) as he pushes past the front door.

"—you _have_ _to_ check, _every time_."

"Even on 'regulars?'"

The main door closes behind Shintarou, shutting out the cold air all at once. It appears the man on as the bar's bouncer is getting a chewing out from... one of the bartenders, if his uniform is any indication. The bartender sighs and although only one of his eyes is visible with the way his hair is parted, Midorima can very clearly read the exasperation on his face.

"You just started, you don't know who the regulars are ye—" The shorter man stops himself, finally noticing Midorima. While it's rare for Midorima to go unnoticed for even a moment, if only because of his height, it is definitely conceivable under these circumstances—the bouncer is _huge_. It's rare that he comes across someone taller than himself, especially  _this_ much taller. The bartender bows slightly and clears the way for Midorima to pass through, but looks at the bouncer-in-training expectantly. The giant turns to Midorima.

"Are you a regular?"

"No." Midorima is more than a little put off by the question, especially the apathy bordering on sleepiness it came with.

"ID."

In a few motions, Midorima has his driver's license out. The bouncer all but glances at it before returning it and waving him through. 

" _A-Atsushi_ , is that what you've been doing all night!?" The bartender speaks up, clearly too appalled to wait for their patron to be out of earshot.

"Yeah. People complain less this way."

"You can't just  _ask_ people if—"

The second door shuts behind Midorima and he looks the inside of the bar over. Its interior is far,  _far_ nicer than the exterior had him believe. The furnishings are well complimented by the lighting and the bar itself is a beautiful testament of woodwork. Midorima pauses, looking the room over once more. Eventually he realizes it would be absurd to sit anywhere other than the bar as a lone patron and approaches the nearest bar stool.

So far, this... isn't a success. He definitely doesn't remember coming here. Neither the bouncer or bartender seemed to recognize him, though it's possible they simply weren't here the previous night. And they _do_ work at a bar... He looks around again and wonders if this is hopeless, after all. None of this is stirring his memory, all of this is new to him—he hadn't even recognized the streets and buildings on his drive over. Another of the bartenders, a young man with grey hair, approaches him.

"Welcome to our establishment. What would you like to drink?" His eyes are incredibly blank and he seems less than thrilled to be taking Midorima's drink order. He thinks to order water then remembers that bartenders tend to frown upon that... then opts to order water anyway because the mere idea of liquor entering his system makes his stomach turn. The bartender looks at him for a second, not saying a word of confirmation or moving to get his drink. He looks like he might _want_ to say something... though whatever it is, he clearly decides to keep it to himself once he grabs a glass and serves the water from a soda gun. He then places the glass in front of Midorima and leaves him to tend another patron.

...Surly.

Midorima then resumes observing his surroundings as he continues to not recognize a thing about this experience. It finally strikes him that he did it—he's finally  _doing it_ and has gone out to a gay bar to... what, socialize? Meet someone? Lose his virginity, maybe? Instead of excitement, he just feels... discomfort. Gluing his eyes to he bar, he sips at his water, becoming increasingly aware of how many of these men seem to already know the place, the bartenders, each other... If he was here last night, what exactly was his plan for once he got here?

This is awkward.

Is this really how some people meet?

Midorima shifts his thoughts elsewhere while he drinks and, without meaning to, begins thinking about his job hunt. While he's been selected for interviews nearly every time he's sent in an application, none of the institutes he's applied to have really caught his interest—not enough to devote his life to, at least. Sure, he could just join a team and earn some experience (and money) in the meantime but... Midorima sighs and adjusts his glasses; that's exactly what he should be doing and he knows it. He glances around again, already sick of thinking about the big question mark that is his job prospects.

It really does seem like everyone here knows each other, but the most he would describe the interactions as is friendly—hardly sexual or even flirty in nature. He briefly wonders if this is a gay bar at all—but of course it is; there are no women present and its name is _Cheeky_ , of all classless things. (He does a short prayer that he'll never have to use the bar's name in a sentence.) Oh. Never mind, two guys at the bar are clearly exchanging phone numbers. The taller of the two has a cocky grin on his face, as if this happening is only inevitable, while the other one appears to have stars in his eyes, he's so captivated. Just when Midorima is about to turn his gaze back to his glass, he makes sudden, brief eye contact with someone across the room, sitting in the booth section. Uncomfortable. Then, with the glass at his lips, Midorima freezes.

That just now had felt familiar, somehow.

He... he _was_ here last night.

Slowly, faint recollections come back to him, though most of them are a bit too muddled to truly be called details. The bar top looks and feels familiar now, he remembers this lighting... was the bar this full last night? It doesn't feel like it... Many things remain completely alien to him, like the route he drove here and the bouncer—yet at the same time, he does recall the bartender at the main entrance smiling at him as he placed his drink in front of him. No—drinks.

Right?

His eyes trace a path back to the stranger he just met eyes with, a guy with dark, straight hair and a somewhat lean stature, laughing heartily at whatever his companion has just said. Then Midorima suddenly realizes that he _knows his name_.

 _Ka... Ka... something with a Ka..._ he thinks. The more he ruminates on the guy's name, the more he remembers other things about him: a perpetual grin accompanied by mischievous eyes, a playful lilt to his voice, a natural ease in his speech and the way he carries himself, and a neck and clavicle he can only think to describe as 'edible' for some ridiculous reason.

_Kazunari.  
That is definitely it._

Midorima is more than a little confused right now between the sudden recollections, the remaining gaps of blackness, and not realizing _when_ exactly he stood up and started making his way across the room. If he thinks about it, he must have started moving around the moment he'd grasped the first syllable of the guy's name. Walking through the small mass of patrons proves to be a little difficult for someone as averse to unwanted human contact as him but it's completely worth it when he looks at Kazunari again. There's... there's something _about_ him and it's more than just how attractive he remembers him being, it's even more than him potentially knowing something about what he was doing here last night. For whatever reason, Midorima is simply...

Drawn to him.  
And the closer he gets, the more desperately he needs to reach him.

In fact, the anticipation grows so much that when he finally does reach him, when Midorima is standing right at his table... he, uh, doesn't actually know what to say.

"...did you get those photos I sent you?" He is still talking to his friend, who certainly _has_  taken note of Midorima's presence. Kazunari finally follows his friend's gaze and looks up at Midorima, as well, and the curious look in those striking eyes of his helps Midorima faintly remember that it is customary to speak when you approach someone and stand at their table, interrupting their conversation.

"Can I help you?" Kazunari asks. The guy smiles at him, just a little and Midorima's heart _soars_. Whatever this is, it is not normal. To be attracted to the guy is one thing, but to have all of his thoughts dissolve just from a slight smile? For his pulse to turn rapid almost immediately upon eye contact? To have his mouth go dry like this? His mind races for the appropriate thing to say, when it strikes him that, of course, he needs to verify his name.

"K..." He faintly licks his lips, hoping he's not about to make a fool of himself. "Kazunari, right?"

"Excuse me?"

Shit. There were two options now: either apologize for his mistake and leave this place forever or double down.

"Your name is Kazunari, isn't it?" Midorima is sure it is. He's  _sure_ because he can still hear it as a low, suggestive whisper in his ear.

"I—uh..." He glances over at his friend before finishing. "Y-yes. It is." A wave of relief overtakes Midorima and although his heart still races, he, mercifully, regains some of his composure.

"How... do you know that?"

"I—I'm sorry?"

Kazunari is about to speak again when he's interrupted by the slam of two glasses on the table. They all snap out of the oddly tense moment, Kazunari's friend included, and the guy Midorima had seen procuring a number at the bar is now at his side.

"Did you guys see that?" the tanned man asks, the confidence in his voice as thick as syrup. "Been here for ten minutes, already guys are clamoring for me."

Abruptly, the man sitting across from Kazunari rises to his feet.

"Ah, Aomine! You finally got back with our drinks." He grabs the pair of glasses and begins shimmying out of the booth. "Perfect timing, I was just getting ready to move."

"What? Oi, get back here with my beer!"

And with that, it's just Kazunari at the booth.

"M-may I sit?" Midorima asks, feeling profoundly awkward looming over him like this.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah! Go ahead..." Kazunari nods but eyes him steadily, warily almost, as he sits across from him. "So, how do you know that? My name."

The line of questioning is strange to say the least; because he told him, of course. Midorima is about to tell him as much when a look of... _relief_ dawns over the other man's face.

" _Oh_ , okay. Okay. You must have asked one of the bartenders." Kazunari visibly relaxes and a smile graces his face, causing Midorima to suppress a warm chill. "Which one did you ask? The one with the beauty mark? Or the gloomy-looking one?"

Midorima's brow knits in confusion, though, abnormal warm chills aside.

" _You_ told me your name. Last night."

Kazunari seems to go tense again; even the smile is a bit stiffer now. If his suspicious behavior is anything to go on, Midorima is at least confident that he definitely  _did_ speak with this guy last night.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks.

"I am," Midorima says. He isn't... _completely_ sure, but he answers quickly enough that his own self-doubt doesn't show. Kazunari fidgets in his seat a bit. Midorima can't quite read his expression, but if he had to hazard a guess, the guy is choosing his next words wisely. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he mumbles a soft 'oh.'

"You know what? You're absolutely right." The raven-haired boy's posture relaxes and he smiles apologetically. "We totally did chat last night." Midorima closes his eyes and sighs despite himself. Even if his memory is still a mess, at least now he knows he isn't going insane...

"What did we talk about?" he asks hoping for something, anything at all to jog his memory. Kazunari takes a hold of his glass and looks up at the ceiling, pensively.

"Hm, we didn't talk about much." Then he makes eye contact with Midorima again and gives him a dangerous smile, the kind that could easily be misconstrued for... flirty. "I tried flirting with you, but you weren't interested."

And it must be the long day he's having in combination with that devilish smile that makes the next words come out of Shintarou's mouth, because as soon as he says it, he cannot believe he's allowed himself to say something so embarrassing.

"I find that hard to believe."

There's a short moment of silence between them but the words he's just uttered ring loudly in his own ears... and now he's  _blushing_ , he just knows it, god _damnit._  The silence is broken by a boyish giggle from the man sitting across from him.

"Was that a compliment?" He covers his mouth a bit and the question is followed by more laughter. Midorima feels his face get even hotter and right as he's about to dismiss himself from further mockery, Kazunari adds,

"That was pretty cute~"

✦

By the time Shintarou gets home, he's exhausted and still unsure if his investigation was a success or not. Sure he'd figured out his whereabouts from the night before but... what else happened?

Why had he woken up so unbelievably ill? 

And why in God's name is he so stuck on what that guy last said to him?

_'That was pretty cute~'_

"'Cute' my ass..." Midorima grumbles as he places his keys on the kitchen counter. He poises his hand over the light switch, then pauses.

This... this feels familiar, too.

After turning on the light, he glances around his apartment. Of course, everything is as neat and orderly as he'd left it just over an hour ago. And yet something feels... he realizes he may be remembering last night and slows his pace to hopefully trigger something. As he enters his bedroom, his mind fills with the image of that guy, Kazunari, for some reason—the sharp clarity of his eyes, the amused curve in his smile, the faint city lights playing off of his fair skin, daring Midorima to touch...

Hold on.

_'That was pretty cute~'_

He's stuck on that because he's heard it before. He heard it... here.

Midorima feels pure exhaustion overtaking him with the effort it takes to pull forth this memory but finds it beyond worthwhile when he finally does—

 

_'C'mere...'_

 

_'So this is the first time you've ever been touched like this?'_

 

_'You're cute.'_

 

Kazunari.

...That guy was _here_. 

And he lied about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can learn so much about someone's day/thought process through their browser history xD
> 
> lol this is my second fic with puking in it, [gross](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3257153)
> 
> I have nothing else to say this chapter! Hope you liked it and please leave a lil comment, they are a fic writer's lifeblood u u  
> ooh, and/or tell your midotaka friends about it, that works, too
> 
> See you next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao demonstrates his true pick up skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying something different with what names I use for Midorima and Takao and when. While I don't think it is confusing, I do apologize for the stylistic inconsistency--I plan on editing the first three chapters accordingly eventually.
> 
> Also, this should be typo/personal note-free but I did proofread this on 2 hours of sleep at 7am sooo... yeah!

Kazunari leans heavily over the bar to take a peek at how many more glasses Himuro still has to polish before they can go to dinner. He immediately gets in trouble for it and sits back in his stool, smiling through Himuro’s scolding.

It’s still early in the day—only 6pm—but since it’s a Friday, the bar is already slammed with patrons getting off of work. His cousin had permission to take the day off, an absolute  _blessing_  in the bar industry made that much more valuable since today is a _Thirteenth_. Himuro, however, remained ever the workhorse, opting to come in for the first few opening hours and leave early instead. Which is fine, sure, but Kazunari is bored out of his mind waiting for him to be done with stupid… what’s it called again? ‘Side work’?

“This place has really blown up recently,” Kazunari muses. It  _is_  Friday but it really wasn’t that long ago that Cheeky was only packed every other weekend.

“Tell me about it,” Himuro smiles and agrees. “It’s great for business but it can be a tad overwhelming.”

“And it stinks,” Kazunari murmurs. Himuro laughs but he’s not really joking. The bar itself simply smells of the occasional scent of cigarettes clinging to a patron or the most fragrant cocktails they serve, but the smell he refers to is of a different nature. This many demons in one place are  _totally_  annoying when you’re trying to hunt. “How long do you think until it’s saturated?”

Himuro hums to himself, thinking. “…A month, maybe. I feel like I see fewer and fewer humans every day.”

“Great…” Kazunari rolls his eyes and can’t help but look as bitter as he feels for a moment. Cheeky hasn’t been working out very well for finding his type of prey anyway, but it’s been convenient as hell. Close to home  _and_ work and a lot of his friends hang out here.

 _…Though that seems to be the problem, huh_ , he thinks, just as Mayuzumi appears next to Himuro to retrieve something from his side of the bar.

“It was inevitable,” he interjects, apparently having heard at least some of what they were talking about. A knack for overhearing and eavesdropping is a skill typical of many bartenders but Kazunari makes a mental note to watch what he says around Mayuzumi especially; he seems to be  _extra_  good at it. “It’ll even out again in a few months.”

Himuro smiles at Mayuzumi, probably happy he chose to add something to the conversation, but he’s back to tending bar in the next instant. Returning his attention to Kazunari, he says, “He’s probably right, it’s not anything to worry about in the long-term.”

Kazunari groans and pouts anyway, really not looking forward to finding another haunt for his hunts. Knowing that he has to start reevaluating his feeding options leaves him with a deep sense of foreboding in his chest.

“Anyway, are you almost done?” He pulls out his phone to check the time. “My mom said to be there at seven.”

“What?” Himuro stops polishing the glass in his hands. “Dinner starts at eight, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but she wants us there to help set up.”

Himuro closes his eyes before sighing, “Of course she does… And you failed to mention this to me because…?”

“You told me you got the day off on Tuesday but then you said to meet you here today, so,” Kazunari shrugs. “I figured you knew and were just trying to get some work in.”

Himuro opens his eyes again and resumes polishing the glass in hands at a faster pace. “Kazunari, go sit over there,” he says with a stern finality, nodding toward the opposite end of the bar.

“Huh? Why?”

“I’m still working and you’ve annoyed me.”

Kazunari huffs but obeys, begrudgingly finding a spot closer to Mayuzumi’s post at the bar. He spends his brief timeout people watching, making a small game out of picking out the humans in the growing crowd. He gives up eventually, though, because  _seriously_  there are  _that_  many incubi here. He’s tempted to order a drink from the Nameless Bartender once he’s bored (if only to finally learn his name—it’s been almost a month since he started and Kazunari still only recognizes him by his powder blue hair) but just as he’s about to flag the guy down, Himuro approaches him, still looking annoyed.

“Let’s go, we’re late,” he says, speeding past Kazunari with what must be his dinner outfit draped over his shoulder.

“Coming!” Kazunari exclaims, scrambling out of his seat to catch up.

 

✦

 

It’s taken Shintarou the better part of a week to finally visit the bar with the tacky name again and it’s not until his driver’s license is being looked over by the burly man in the foyer that he can place a finger on why. Now that he’s finally here again, the anxiety begins to dredge up. It’s obvious that the bar is more crowded than it was during his last visit and, more importantly, he somewhat dreads what he might learn from confronting... _him_.

Although, he may be getting himself needlessly worked up—that’s always a possibility.

Another possibility, a very likely one, in fact, is that Kazunari won’t even be here tonight and he is putting himself through all of this turmoil for nothing.

…On the same note, it’s possible that ‘Kazunari’ isn’t even his real name.

As the bouncer hands Shintarou his license, the bar entrance bursts open as a dark-haired man rushes into the foyer and towards the exit. Shintarou briefly recognizes him as one of the bartenders but before he can really dwell on it another man rushes after him. And this one he  _definitely_  recognizes.

Kazunari is clearly in as much of a rush as the man before him but, in the short moment that they are in the same small space of the foyer, he takes notice of Shintarou, too. He stops breathing when their eyes meet and Kazunari’s show a spark of recognition and he smirks at him, teasing and flirty and…  _knowing_ , somehow. Shintarou’s heart pounds furiously in his chest.

 

And then he’s gone, the main doors shutting slowly behind him.

 

“You gonna take this back or what?” a deep voice asks, bored. Shintarou snaps out of it and realizes that instead of actually grabbing his ID, he’d come to a complete stop with his hand poised to retrieve it. He snatches his license back and, without a word, bolts back outside. Thanks to his fast acting, he doesn’t have to go far to spot Kazunari again.

Unfortunately, and again, thanks to his fast acting, Kazunari had only  _barely_  left and as soon as Shintarou opens the door he has to screech to an awful, awkward, towering halt to keep from accidentally running him over (and he’s so much shorter than him, he worries he really may have crushed him if that had happened). Kazunari whips around and takes a few steps back, brow raised and eyes wide in alarm.

“Whoa, easy there!” he quips, the look of bewilderment already being replaced by another smirk.

God  _damn_ , that was embarrassing.

“I need to talk to you,” Shintarou says, deciding to just… ignore what just happened.

“Yeah?” Kazunari smiles, crossing his arms, and he looks… interested? It also looks like he might laugh. “What about?”

Shintarou mentally steels himself, trying not to get tangled up in fussing over diction and pushing thoughts of how pretty Kazunari is out of his mind.

“The night we met.” Good. Doing great so far.

Kazunari raises an eyebrow, curious.

“I—”

“ _Kazu!_ ”

Kazunari flinches and flashes Midorima an apologetic look.

“One sec,” he says, turning to face a car across the street. Shintarou observes the bartender who’d rushed out opening the driver’s seat, looking very impatient.

“Come on, we’re already late because of you!”

“Just get changed in the back, I’ll drive!” Kazunari yells back. “This’ll be one second, we’re fine!”

An indiscernible groan comes from the bartender as he slams the door shut but that seems to pacify him for the time being.

Facing Shintarou again, Kazunari says, “Sorry, but I’m late to a thing and my cousin’s gonna  _kill_  me if I hang around any longer.”

“No, I—” Shintarou’s lost for a moment, a bit taken off guard by this sudden reunion and immediate departure. “In… that case, let’s exchange contact information.” He  _isn’t_  asking for his number like  _that_ , he tells himself. He’s trying to get answers. That’s all.

Kazunari smirks again, his eyes now lighting up in a way that positively screams mischief.

“You already know where to find me,” he replies. “I’m usually around Thursday through the weekend, though, if you wanna get specific.” Kazunari’s lips part and he takes a short breath like he’s about to say something, but they close again like he’s decided against it at the last second. His eyes linger on Shintarou’s with such intensity it causes his face to heat up. Kazunari snorts then, amused, before saying, “So I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Ri… right,” Midorima answers, a little too quietly as he watches the other man turn and cross the street.

 

 

✧

 

The design firm is chattier than usual as Kazunari continues fucking with his latest project. He was supposed to have this finished ages ago…

“Takaocchi!” A cheerful voice chirps in his ear, making him start a bit. Just over his shoulder, his good friend and co-worker smiles and watches his frenzied attempts at project completion. Kise chuckles.

“I was about to ask if you were ready to get out of here, but I guess not.”

Kazunari pouts and gets back to his work. “Oh, shut up.”

Kise shakes his head and sighs. “Is this your draft for that hotel project?”

Kazunari nods.

“Whoa. Wasn’t that due this  _morning?_ ”

Kazunari quickly brings a finger to his lips, eyes pleading with Kise to lower his voice, before quietly answering, “Yes, it was, but Miyaji-san hasn’t noticed I haven’t sent it all day and I’m almost done.”

Kise glances around, keeping an eye out for the aforementioned creative director. Once he determines that the coast is still clear, he leans down closer to Kazunari.

“So do you want me to wait up or…?”

Kazunari shakes his head. “Nah, this might end up taking a while.”

Kise straightens up with a sigh and adjusts his computer bag. “I’ll leave you to it then. Are we still on for this weekend?”

Kazunari nods rapidly, not even sparing a glance back at him. Kise chuckles to himself.

“Good luck, Takaocchi!”

Kazunari makes a grunt that could be interpreted as a ‘thanks’.

 

✧

 

Dropping his computer bag to the floor (a reckless act he can afford due to its bulky padded lining), Kazunari sighs heavily. The sound of it is generally lost in the noise level of the bar but the person sitting in the stool adjacent to him hears him well enough.

“Long day?” Himuro asks, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Kazunari just mumble-groans in response and seeks out the nearest bartender. Instead of answering, he asks Himuro, “Off duty?”

“Hm, yes and no.” The casual burgundy sweater he’s wearing in place of his uniform, however, firmly indicates no. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by… and sample Kuroko-kun's drink making skills.”

Kazunari chuckles. “Do you ever really take a break?”

Himuro chuckles back. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

“Ugh, can you lend me some of that flawless work ethic, please? I spent most of today finishing a design I forgot about.”

“Hm hm, well it’s probably not genetic. Aunt Kyoko is pretty casual about work, too.”

“Hey, I’m not  _casual_  about work. I just fail to remember things from time to time.” Himuro smiles at him, mocking.

Himuro smiles at him, mocking. “And your mom?”

“Oh no, she’s definitely a mess,” Kazunari replies, waving dismissively. They then share a laugh at his mother’s expense, reveling in a joke that they could only ever enjoy like this miles and miles away from her presence.

The two of them then spend a minute of mutual silence together, Kazunari taking the opportunity to check his phone, before Himuro sighs and mumbles, “Where is he…”

“Where’s who?” Kazunari asks, his eyes still glued to the screen. Now that he’s sent that text to Imayoshi, he can check that new e-mail.

“Kuroko-kun.”

“Oh, right,” Kazunari says, laughing. “The invisible apprentice. How is it that you can never find him?” Still snickering, he helpfully adds, “He went to the restroom a minute ago.” Kazunari’s laughter ends abruptly when he sees the newest message in his inbox. His face blanches and his heart drops.

 

From: Miyaji Kiyoshi  
Subject: Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done.

 

He immediately turns his phone’s screen off and slams it on the bar, face down.

 

_Nope, not dealing with that right now._

 

“You mean he  _left the bar_  and I didn’t notice??” Himuro asks, incredulous, then exasperated. “I can _not_ keep an eye on that kid—he’s completely forgettable!” Kazunari turns his full attention to the conversation at hand and away from the probable death threat in his inbox.

“No, I’d say it’s more like he’s got a super like…  _subtle_  presence.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, I will never understand why Mayuzumi hired him.” Himuro places a hand under his bangs, probably to massage his temple. “He’s good at memorizing drink recipes but slow at getting the measurements right. And since none of the guests ever notice him, the workload is exactly the same as before.”

Kazunari stays silent, not really sure what to say to that. He does finally catch Mayuzumi’s attention, though.

“Or maybe I’m being too critical.” Kazunari raises his eyebrows at him and puts on a dubious, ‘no, not  _you_ ,  _never you_ ’ face. Himuro responds to that look with one of regret, his expression softening from annoyance to reflection. “I need to give him time to adjust… right?”

“Beer or vodka?” Mayuzumi asks, his hospitality always pushed aside in favor of efficiency when addressing Kazunari in particular.

“Vodka tonic, please,” he chimes in response, not at all phased by the treatment. “Yeah, you’re just a perfectionist. And you can be pretty impatient when it comes to stuff  _you’re_  already familiar with.”

Himuro scoffs then and Kazunari isn’t sure if it’s amusement or doubt. “Impatient, huh…”

His vodka tonic arrives and Kazunari smiles as he reaches for his drink—then stops. There’s a slight, familiar discomfort running through his body but he tries to ignore it.

“Yeah, ‘cause sometimes you…  _mm._ ” He clenches his teeth and curses internally.

Definitely a hunger pain.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” Himuro asks, concern immediately written on his face.

“Nothing, nothing!” He laughs, attempting to wave off this sudden unwanted attention. He grabs his drink and takes a sip from the pair of tiny cocktail straws in it.

“Kazu…”

 _Ugh, not_ that _tone._

“I just have to switch priorities for the night, that’s all!” Kazunari forces a smile on his face as he spins in his seat to size up the venue.

“Kazu, there’s hardly any prey here, let alone what you’re looking for.”

“You don’t know that…” he replies under his breath, firmly in denial. As uncomfortable as they are, at least this is just the beginning of the cramps. “It’s fine, this is fine—I can work with this. I’ll find… someone.”

“If you say so…” Himuro says, voice wary and utterly unconvinced as he turns back to the bar, probably looking for Kuroko again.

Not even hearing what he last said, Kazunari announces, “I’m gonna check the room out a bit.” He’s about to stand up when he remembers, “Ah—do you think you can get someone to take this to the office?” he asks, lifting his computer bag.

Himuro nods solemnly, taking it from him.

“…Good luck,” he says, just as seriously.

_…Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence._

 

✦

 

This is the last night he is coming here.

Cheeky isn’t a bad bar. The service is consistently good (as long as he doesn’t order water), the seating is comfortable, the décor is classy, and while it does tend to get crowded, the patrons are never unruly or obnoxious. So there isn’t anything wrong with the establishment itself.

Aside from its god-awful name.

However, Shintarou has been coming here every weekend for three weeks straight and he has yet to see any signs of Kazunari.

He made this decision when he woke up this morning and his resolve only hardened that much more when Cheeky’s Friday bouncer (the burly, dark-skinned fellow with the elaborate designs shaved into his hair) nodded him through without asking for his ID. He’s…

He’s becoming a  _regular_ here.

And that was  _never_  his intention.

So if Kazunari isn’t here tonight, this is it. The end of the chase. He’s come to terms with what the conclusion will be if he doesn’t get his answers: he came here a little over a month ago with the intention of putting himself out there, seeing what a gay bar would be like. His anxiety got the best of him and he drank more than he should have.

Someone came along and took advantage of that.

And he awoke with an extreme hangover and a hole in his memory.

…It isn’t a pretty story. And he doesn’t want to believe that’s what happened. There are still huge pieces missing—practically everything he and Kazunari spoke about at the bar, what exactly he was drinking and how much of it, how they got to his home, what the two of them actually  _did_  that night. As he sits down at the bar, squeezing his way past two patrons ordering drinks to assume his favorite spot closest to the door, he hopes, he almost  _prays_  that he gets the full story tonight.

Or at least a different story than the one he’s come up with.

The grey-haired bartender spots him immediately and gives him his full attention. He’s started to get preferential treatment here, though he isn’t quite sure why.

“What are you having tonight, sir?”

“A glass of the Chenin Blanc.” Before he can walk away to retrieve the wine, however, Shintarou changes his mind. It’s the most crowded he’s ever seen this place, to the point where men’s arms are rubbing against him on both sides. This may require… something stronger.

“Actually, I'd like to see the cocktail menu.”

 

✧

 

Kazunari has just finished his first lap around the bar, a tour of enthusiastic greetings, politely passing on drink offers, and discreet dancing to the beat in order to move through the sea of people as Cheeky slowly turns from a gay pub to a gay club. He makes it back to the bar and is relieved to see his cousin is right where he left him.

“Oh, thank Satan you’re still here,” he says, trying his best to ignore the steady dull pain radiating out from his stomach.

Himuro turns to him and gives him a slight smile.

“ _What?_ ” he yells over the music.

“ _Nothing!_ ” Kazunari yells back.

“ _How’d your search go?_ ”

Kazunari just shakes his head and breaks eye contact, choosing to seek out a bartender instead. He needs a fucking drink to get through this nightmare. As if on cue, Kuroko appears on this side of the bar and Kazunari almost launches across the counter so he can grab him. Instead, he shouts his name.

Kuroko turns and stares up at him with those big, gentle blue eyes and Kazunari wonders for the umpteenth time what the hell he is doing tending bar. He says something, too, but his voice is far,  _far_ too quiet to hear over the thumping bass of one of this year’s most popular dance tracks.

“ _What?_ ” Kazunari shouts.

Kuroko looks frustrated and repeats himself but the result is the same. Kazunari can only imagine how difficult working here on a weekend must be for him—in fact, he’s not sure he’s  _ever_  seen him here on a weekend. …Which would explain why Himuro came to check on him.

“ _OK,_   _I can’t hear you at all_ ,” he yells, leaning across the bar and straight up admitting defeat. _“But can I get a vodka on the rocks? Make it a double!_ ” He almost leans back but then changes his mind. “ _Actually, a triple if you can get away with it!_ ” And then he changes his mind yet again. “ _Make that two! Top shelf!_ ”

As he ignores the sense of regret and burning in his wallet, his reason for doubling his order squeezes his way over to him and places a large hand on his head.

“D _-don’t!_ ” Kazunari yelps. He is definitely the kind of demon that needs everything about his appearance to be just so when he’s hunting.

“Did I see you ordering a drink for me?” Imayoshi asks, bending close to his ear to speak. He’s never been one for raising his voice unless it’s strictly necessary.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” Kazunari answers in the same way. Then his heart nearly jumps for joy when the guy sitting in his old seat gets up—sitting on the barstool brings him a lot closer to Imayoshi’s face and then they can talk all close  _without_  looking like a couple.

“Isn’t it kind of early for it to be this full already?” Imayoshi comments, eyes sweeping across the packed bar. When Kazunari nods, Imayoshi nods back, impressed. “So what are you going to do about your hunger?”

Kazunari’s eyes widen but then he turns his gaze down to the bar in front of him as their drinks arrive.

 _How does he_ always _know?!_

“I—”

“Don’t bother denying it, I already saw that face you made!”

 _Ugh, he’s even_ laughing _for gods’ sake._

“Alright,  _ye_ _ah_ , so it’s  _bad_.”

“It’s very bad, Kazunari. I don’t think I’ve seen one human since I've arrived—not that I could  _possibly_  tell with this many of us here.” Imayoshi leans in closer and Kazunari leans away, doing everything he can not to look at his face. “Seriously, what are you going to do?”

Bringing his drink to his lips and then chewing on the drink straws, he says, “If I can’t find anyone, I’ll do what I always—”

Imayoshi sighs harshly and grabs his own drink. “Wait it out the whole weekend?”

Kazunari doesn’t answer him. Instead, he lets go of the tiny straws, brings the glass itself to his lips, and takes huge gulps. The taste is goddamn  _awful_ , chugging straight vodka is one of the most repulsive things anyone can do to their body, but he can tell Kuroko managed to make him a triple and he’s going to need as much alcohol as possible to dull this pain while he works the floor. Imayoshi takes his silence as a cue to take a sip of his own drink and he nearly spits it out.

“W-what the  _hell_ , is this straight  _vodka??_ ”

Kazunari slams his glass down on the bar before bouncing out of his seat and departing without a word. He feels a bit like a bad ass and a bit like a degenerate—but what he really wants is to feel drunk. Cheeky is for humans and demons alike so the alcohol they serve is the standard fare found in any bar run by humans. The closest he can get to drunk without some devil grade shit is a gross, but strong, triple vodka on the rocks.

And even then all it’s really doing is numbing  _some_  of the pain.

But it’ll have to do.

Kazunari makes a second lap around the bar, this time staying away from the unofficial dance floor and sticking more to the elevated booths area. He greets some fellow barflies (you almost never see the  _real_  regulars out dancing) and silently chastises himself for letting things get like this again—if only because it’s another incident for Imayoshi to add to his ever-expanding 'list of reckless acts of self-endangerment.’ He must not have noticed it earlier in the day because he was so preoccupied with that project… he doesn’t even get the normal warning signs of low life force anymore, though. It just goes straight to… this.

The unbearable aching.

“ _Hey, Takao!_ ”

His ears perk at the sound of his name being called. It’s a familiar voice and he turns around to find… someone he’s  _sure_  he’s met before. He’s short and super smiley and has wavy hair that he recalls is  _dyed_  that light brown color… but the name escapes him for some reason so he pulls an evasive maneuver.

“ _Oh, hey!!_ ” he shouts with  _extra_  enthusiasm to distract from his failure to actually address the other man. “ _What are you doing here??_ ”

Smiling, the other incubus shouts, “ _We heard about this place a couple weeks ago, finally decided to check it out! What are_ you _doing here??_ ”

Kazunari laughs and waves a flippant hand at him.

“ _Oh, you know me! Total bar rat!_ ” The other guy laughs and pats his shoulder and then Kazunari remembers who he is. Akiyama. Akiyama Ichiro. 

This isn’t good. Ichiro is here. Which must mean by ‘we’ he meant…

“ _S-so, is Masa-kun here with you?_ ”

“ _Yeah!_ ” Ichiro gestures behind him at one of the booths. “ _You should come say hi! We just ordered a pitcher for the table!!”_

Crap. This is even worse.

“ _Yeah, totally!_ ” he yells back, hoping he’s lying. “ _I’m looking for someone but I’ll swing by in a little bit!_ ”

“ _OK, man, awesome!”_   And with that Ichiro finally turns away and disappears into the sea of bodies behind him.

“ _Shit!_ ” he yells, knowing no one will notice.

 

✦

 

Things are hardly going according to plan.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. He  _did_ plan for Kazunari not showing up, after all, but now that he’s sitting here, thinking about settling his bill as the venue becomes more and more packed and the music gets louder and more electronic, he realizes that he really, really,  _really, really_  wanted to see him tonight.

That and he’s had a bit more to drink than he’d meant to.

The gimlet he ordered from the grey-haired bartender (who he'd finally learned went by the name Mayuzumi) had been excellent—sharp but subtly fragrant and not at all sweet, with enough of a bite to it was easy to remain vigilant about how much alcohol he was consuming. He'd only heard negative things about gin and was surprised to discover he quite liked it. So he’d ordered another.

And another.

And now he is learning he can’t really hold his liquor.

It only makes sense considering he’s only ever had wine before tonight (he thinks) but self-awareness is not making the unsteady feeling of first-time drunkenness any easier to adjust to. In fact, it’s doing something else. It’s…

It’s willing him to get to his feet and look around.

He’s  _itching_ to do so but luckily his self-control is still intact enough to keep him from abandoning his seat. The place is full enough that the moment he stands up, vultures will undoubtedly be upon the barstool before he’d even had time to walk away from it. No, he will stay put. His height is still enough of an advantage that he can see into the crowd decently… though picking out a head of straight, black hair at a bar turned impromptu discotheque, complete with dimmed lighting and strobe lights (where the  _hell_  had  _those_  come from?—he’d been here three weekends in a row and hadn’t seen them  _once_ ) seems… impossible.

Yes, that is the word.

Impossible.

Shintarou’s shoulders sag and he peers into his glass.

It's time to settle his tab.

 

✧

 

 _OK, OK, OK, calm down, there_ has _to be a virgin here somewhere, there_ has _to be. You are_ not _going to go home with Masahiro—no matter how good the sex is, no matter how good of a painkiller it is, no matter how easily he would say yes, no matter how much_ easier that would be  _you are_ going  _to find a virgin here and you are_ not _going home with Masahiro._

Kazunari’s mind repeats these thoughts over and over, glad that he has the vodka pumping through his veins to dull the pain that would undoubtedly be clouding his judgment more than any earthly liquor ever could. Even though his ex is probably still as hot as the last time they hooked up… even though the last time he ran into him hungry they fucked for an entire weekend and it was the only thing that allowed him to sleep… even though he’s  _right there, just a few feet away_ , Kazunari convinces himself to keep looking.

It just isn’t worth the awkward Monday morning or Masahiro texting him for weeks about getting back together—and if his intuition is right, he’s pretty sure Ichiro has had a crush on him for  _years_  now, even when _they_ were dating. If he’s been making any progress, the last thing Kazunari wants to do is derail that by distracting Masa-kun with his neediness again.

Then, the muscles in Kazunari’s abdomen all cramp at once. He nearly yells but ends up simply grabbing for the person nearest him. He apologizes, but they take the action as a flirtation and he has to make a speedy getaway. The place is so saturated with the smell of demons that there’s literally no way he could have told if that guy is human or not, but he definitely isn’t a virgin.

In fact, he’s sure no one here is.

 _Ima-kun’s_   _right. Tatsuya’s right. It’s like… ninety percent demons in here and the only prey seem far from virginal._

He’s headed back to the bar, trying his hardest to stay away from the booths and the temptation of his ex, the aspirin, when he sees it.

 

Him. When he sees  _him._

 

‘It’ being his salvation and ‘him’ being Midorima.

 

Even from so far away, everything about him still screams virginal.

 

He’s staring into his drink, looking all pensive. Brooding, like last time.

 

 _He may not have slept with anyone since_ , he thinks.

 

_…Right?_

 

Kazunari’s senses all go into overdrive as he mulls this over.

 

_Actually, he almost definitely hasn’t. I’m positive._

He tries to stop himself but as he makes his way back to the bar, he finds his trajectory moving him closer and closer to where Midorima is sitting, moping into his glass.

_Just…_

He finds one of his hands combing his hair back and the other undoing the top two buttons of his Henley t-shirt.

_Just one more time…_

He finds his stride becoming more confident and his tongue wetting his lips.

_Just one more time should be fine… right?_

 

✦

 

So this is it. He’s settled the bill, left his tip (a fairly generous one, as per usual), and only has three or four sips left in this glass. If he wants to get this over with without dragging it out, he could just down the rest of it and go. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for.

 

Until it arrives.

 

He. Until  _he_ arrives.

 

He slinks in next to Shintarou so smoothly he doesn’t even notice him at first. It isn’t the first time someone has squeezed in between him and one of the occupied barstools next to him in order to get a bartender’s attention. He doesn’t know why he decides to look at this particular invader of his personal space. Well, he does, but the reason is ridiculous and he really can’t believe it’s happening again.

 

...He feels that warm chill.  
It washes over his skin and right through him, somehow compelling him to look at the person on his right. 

When Shintarou looks up from his drink and at the man standing next to him, he’s met with a pair of familiar,  _beautiful,_ striking silver eyes and a playful grin. Before he can react, although his reaction certainly would have just been a sputtering declaration of shock, he leans in close. He carefully rests one hand on Shintarou’s arm and the other hand clutches onto the front of his shirt, fingertips lightly grazing against his skin through the cloth. He raises himself to his ear, much closer than is necessary, close enough that his voice is all Shintarou hears when he chuckles and then says,

 

 

“Hey there.”

 

 

Instinctively, Shintarou pulls away from the tickle of Kazunari’s words on his skin. There’s enough space between them now that he can see the smile on Kazunari’s face has grown wider.

“Long time no see, right?” Kazunari continues speaking close to him, totally short-circuiting his senses. He’s still holding onto his arm even though the light touch at his chest is gone and he’s leaning into him enough that he can feel his body heat—incredibly hot. Too hot, ridiculously hot.

…His body _heat_ , he means.

“It-it…” Shintarou’s heart stutters when Kazunari gets handsy again, pulling him down by the neck so he can hear him better. His face is quickly going from an acceptable rosy pink to a mortifying beet red. And he can  _barely_ force words out of his fucking mouth, it feels like his brain is shutting down. “I-It certainly has been.”

Good. At least that was a decent, nonchalant answer. There is absolutely  _no need_  for Kazunari to know how much time he’s spent looking for him. The next few minutes are spent in conversation but if Shintarou were going to be quizzed on what was said after Kazunari uttered the words "I know, right?", he would have absolutely no idea.

Because that is when Kazunari rests his hand on Shintarou’s inner thigh.

All the progress he’d made on turning a normal shade of color is destroyed as Shintarou blushes yet again and his gaze falls directly into his lap. He looks back up at Kazunari, who is still looking at his face, still smiling.

“There was something you wanted to talk to me about right?”

“W-w-what?” he stammers out.

“Remember?” Kazunari says, his hand now stroking his thigh, slow but firm. “You came all the way out here to look for me. It sounded urgent...?”

_Nothing could be more urgent than him wrapping his hand around my—_

_Dear god, what am I thinking._

Shintarou snaps out of the dirty thoughts arising in his head as he remembers that yes, yes he  _did_  have something he wanted to talk to Kazunari about. It was something that he’d gone to a crowded bar to ask him about, many times, despite his social anxiety, and general distaste for alcohol and people.

What happened the night they met?

What did they do at his home?

…Why had he lied about it?

“Y-yes, I-I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Well, I’m all ears, Midorima…”

“It-It’s not something we can talk a-a-a-bout—!”

Shintarou’s voice catches in his throat and he closes his eyes briefly as he shudders. Kazunari smiles wider and his gaze finally drops to Shintarou’s lap for the first time. He now firmly, undeniably, has his shameless, lecherous hand right on Shintarou’s penis. Kazunari’s eyes rise back up to observe Shintarou’s face as he strokes him through his pants. Satisfied with what he sees there, he leans into his neck slowly… brushes the bridge of his nose against the skin there, then just barely grazes his lips against him.

 

Then suddenly he pulls away.

 

Shintarou’s eyes open fully, his head swimming with endorphins and probably a bit of the alcohol. Kazunari’s just staring at him, wearing that amused smile, one of his arms leaning against the bar with his chin resting on his fist.

He wants to see what he’ll do next.

…What  _will_  he do next?

_If… If I bring up what I came here to discuss… regardless of how he chooses to answer, he… he might not… want…_

Shintarou closes his eyes now, knowing he has to actively make this decision:

To either listen to his head, as he always has in life, get the answers he sought in the first place, and fill in the blank spaces from a night that’s been troubling him for well over a month. This could possibly turn Kazunari off. He’s almost certain it would. And for all he knows, the true story of what happened that night might have the same effect on him, as well.

So he can do that or he can…

Well…

He can listen to his... baser desires.

For once.

For  _once_ in his life, he could listen to the needy, throbbing bulge in his pants that is absolutely  _begging_  to get that hot, expert touch back. He could do that and ignore the pursuit of knowledge. The pursuit of truth.

 

Maybe find out  _later._

 

“Hey, Midorima?”

 

“Y-yes?” he answers, swallowing hard. He… He  _has_ to talk to him. Inappropriately sexy public advances be damned.

 

“What do you say,” Kazunari starts, leaning in close again. “To taking me home and letting me ride this stiff cock of yours…” Kazunari’s tongue licks at Shintarou’s earlobe. “Until you come  _so hard…_ ” He softly bites it and Shintarou sighs as he shudders again. “You pass out?”

 

His hand shoots out to grab his drink, then tosses back the last few sips in one solid gulp. Kazunari laughs out loud.

 

“Guess that’s a yes, huh?”

 

✧✦

 

Kazunari lightly pokes Midorima’s chest with his index finger and Midorima instantly obeys, laying down on his back. He stares up at him, captivated, and Kazunari barely suppresses a triumphant smirk—he does this on a regular basis but it never stops feeling great having a hottie, a  _real_   _hottie_ , be complete putty in his hands like this. Seriously, his work back at the bar was some of his finest in a while. He rewards his prey for his obedience with a close kiss as he straddles him, pressing his own bare chest against Midorima’s.

“Now be good while I get myself ready for you…” Giving him another kiss before sitting up in his lap, he adds sweetly, “You can do that, right?”

Midorima nods firmly, the look in his eyes serious yet soft. With that, Kazunari trails one hand over to pinch and tease at his own nipple. His eyes close and he shivers a bit at the sensation before moving that hand down, further and further, to caress his navel, then lightly play with the faint trail of hair there before finally taking a steady hold of the base of his dick. Midorima’s eyes are glued to each and every movement Kazunari makes, from the path his hands tease along his own skin to the minute twitches of the muscles underneath as they twitch in response to it. Kazunari strokes his shaft a few times before bringing his free hand into the mix, already slick with lubricant. He prods at his asshole with one finger, shuddering and then moaning when it pushes inside. He pulls it out only to replace it with two and another sultry moan falls from his lips. There’s nothing Midorima can do except watch and sweat and lick his lips—he’s not sure if he’s dehydrated or just thirsty to be kissed again. Then Kazunari grinds down on him, his balls and then shaft lewdly kneading against Midorima's taut abs before leaving a warm, wet slick behind on his skin. And Midorima moans underneath him because he simply can’t help himself.

Damn, he’s hard.

Midorima’s not sure he’s ever been this hard in his entire life.

He wonders if he is, at this very moment, developing a fetish for this impossibly attractive man to use him this way—grinding against him, staring down at him with a sexy, almost superior gaze, all the while ignoring his aching erection. Midorima wants to ask to be touched but what comes out instead of that is another moan. It shouldn’t feel this good, just being used for someone else's gratification.

Kazunari smiles, satisfied with Midorima’s wordless state of compliance. He reaches behind himself and finds exactly what he’d hoped for—a rock hard dick leaking with desperate arousal.

“Midorima…” He chuckles as he strokes the rod in his hand. “Your cock’s kinda slutty, isn’t it?”

Midorima wants to reply no but there’s also something,  _something_  about that question, about the tone, hell, even about the  _embarrassment_  that is leaving him unbearably turned on.

He really  _is_  discovering a fetish…

Kazunari rewards him with a few more pumps for good behavior like he promised he would, then lets him go (ignoring the low, displeased sigh that causes) in favor of getting a condom out. This time, he doesn’t ask and just puts the condom on for him, unaware of how his talent for applying condoms blind rouses Midorima’s curiosity just as much as his desire.

_Just how many times has he done this?_

This speculation of the exact depth of Kazunari’s experience evaporates the very second he feels the tip of his penis glide against Kazunari’s asshole. To make matters even more breathtaking, when he sees Midorima gritting his teeth to hold back a moan, he slows down his descent. 

A faint smile forms on Kazunari’s lips as he teases him relentlessly, his own arousal steadily spiking at the sensation of the (still rather impressive) cockhead pressing insistently against his back entrance. He considers making his prey beg for it but the need to feed wins out and instead he holds him at the base of the cock, positioning it at the perfect angle for him to sink down onto.

Midorima’s chest heaves as he tries to process the tight, hot, and slick feeling of penetrating Kazunari calmly, but eventually, he caves and yet another moan escapes him. He holds onto Kazunari’s hips, his fingers digging in deeper the more his cock is engulfed by the perfect sensation of his Kazunari’s warmth enveloping him. Pleasure races through him, setting his every nerve on fire from the tips of his fingers to his scalp, pooling quickly and intensely in his lower abdomen—shit.

He’s going to come. He’s definitely going to come.

He’s only about halfway inside but the more Kazunari’s passage draws him in, deliciously slick and tight, the more certain he is of his impending doom. Kazunari sighs and arches his back as he bears his weight down, taking the rest of Midorima’s cock to the base in one smooth motion. Kazunari’s insides squeeze down on him with a pressure and heat that almost blind him with how pleasurable they are—and he has to do something immediately or this is going to be over before they’ve even really started. He’s unsure of how to convey his dilemma without embarrassing himself, though. What if he laughs at him?

Kazunari licks his lips, places his hands on Midorima’s chest for support, and gazes into him, eyes unfocused and dreamy. He feels delightfully full right now, his asshole pulled taut but snug around his prey’s thick cock, and he’s a bit torn on whether to keep teasing his prey with a slow pace or whether he should get them off as soon as possible. Kazunari’s at that point where he can feel his hunger steadily subsiding, the faint muscle cramps fading into nothing and being replaced with something else, something far more enjoyable. The super slow upward motion he uses to lift himself is almost too much for him and as his ass twitches and his dick pulses, an exhilarating warmth creeps up his spine.

He lets out a long, loud moan as the first tendrils of life force trickle in.

“F-f- _fuck…_ ” Midorima mumbles underneath him, his grip even tighter on his hips.

“Right?” Kazunari replies, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Pretty… _unh…_ ” He slowly lowers himself again. “In-intense…”

One of Midorima’s hands moves to grab hold of Kazunari’s ass, causing a sigh to pour out of him and making him grind against him at the end of his next descent. When Kazunari lifts himself again, dragging it out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace, Midorima lets out an enormous sigh and his eyes screw tight as his thighs tense.

“K-Kazunari…!” His grip tightens enough that he’s pinching Kazunari’s skin.

“Yeah?” he answers breathily as his butt meets his hips again. When Midorima doesn’t answer but instead lightly bucks against him and groans, he then asks, “You alright?”

“I-I am, but—” He opens his eyes and is mortified to see those sharp, silver pupils now totally lucid and granting him their undivided attention. Kazunari’s lips are just slightly parted and his hair is just a little disheveled, welcome indicators of his partner’s excitement enthusiasm in the baffling absence of any apparent change in his breathing.

_I’m going to have to say it, aren’t I?_

“I-I-I’m worried I might… c-come…”

“Oh.” There’s a brief but deafening silence before he speaks again. “Hm…”

Now that Kazunari really looks at him, it’s actually incredibly obvious. He must have gotten carried away with the feeding to not have noticed already—Midorima is red from his heaving chest to his ears, evident even in the low light of the human’s bedroom. In fact, what in all hells was he even thinking going at that kind of pace with someone who is basically a virgin??

“OK, just bear with this little bit.” Kazunari pulls himself all the way off of Midorima’s cock, quietly sighing in sensitivity as he does. Midorima shuts his eyes and moans again, his grip like steel for a moment and his hips jerking upward. Kazunari smiles at him, endeared.

_It makes sense he’d be overstimulated… it was kind of a miracle he lasted so long last time._

 

“Hey.”

 

Midorima reopens his eyes to Kazunari’s face close, very close, and then to his surprise, his glasses being removed. He takes in a short breath, tempted to set his gaze on Kazunari’s lips but ultimately unable to draw it away from those intense… strong… penetrating silver eyes… and then they are kissing. Kazunari sighs against Midorima’s lips and it sounds like a melodic hum. He rests his body on top of his and the heat radiating off of his body is almost too much for Midorima, searing his skin and causing his body temperature to rise even further. It begins as careful pecks before graduating to venturing tongues. Kazunari’s hands wander upward and then nestle in Midorima’s hair as he kisses Midorima deeper, tongue moving slowly but expertly, steadily sweeping up the less experienced of the two into his rhythm. Midorima, realizing that this is a break (of sorts) attempts to temper his breathing—not an easy task given that each time he breathes in, smooth skin, lightly toned muscle, and pert nipples press against his own naked chest. Eventually, he’s able to calm down by slowing himself to match Kazunari’s impressively even breathing. And truthfully, the prolonged absence of stimulation directly to his groin is doing _wonders_ for the entire process. They remain like this for minutes until finally Midorima’s calmed down enough to trace his fingers along his lover’s back, pulling him in closer against him, and chase after his lips when a kiss ends.

And then Kazunari pulls away.

This time, Midorima’s eyes do follow his lips, marveling in how they’ve gotten redder from the last few minutes of making out than they had from all of their previous kissing. Wordlessly, Kazunari reseats himself on Midorima’s lap.

“Better?” It’s a short question, probably indicative of his impatience to resume what they started, but Midorima doesn’t hear even a single note of annoyance. In fact, it sounds… tender.

Midorima nods then tosses his head back against his pillows as his neglected length first rubs against Kazunari’s hole and then is met with slick, hot pressure again as he opens up above him. Both of them groan in a decided relief when Kazunari easily bottoms out against Midorima’s hips, although Midorima does it a second time when Kazunari opts for a fast, steady pace.

Kazunari rides his cock with unbelievable skill, relentless yet tireless and always sure to add in a few heavy grinds or twists at the end of a descent every now and then to keep things interesting. Midorima is thrusting up into him as well but there’s almost no point to it—he knows Kazunari could get him off without his help. If his technique didn’t make it happen, the way his insides grip down on his member, clinging when he recedes and swallowing him up when he pumps back into him, would surely be enough. There’s also the separate but equally sexy matter of his voice, always ecstatic but never overacted, a series of lilted moans and cries that raise in pitch along with their frantic movements.

And then there’s his face. His brow knit as he focuses on the pleasure, his silky, black hair slightly out of place, his kiss-swollen lips hanging open as he moans, his eyes looking directly into Midorima's, silver, hazy, and as captivating as ever.

“Midorima!” Kazunari cries, hips moving at an even faster tempo. “I-I’m gonna come, Midorima!”

Kazunari grabs his cock and strokes feverishly as he feels his body begin to change. He can tell Midorima’s on the verge of coming, too, and he gives his prey’s cock a series of tight squeezes to encourage him. His vision’s changing, which means the color of his pupils is sure to follow. He can feel the vertebrae of his back change shape, pressing against muscle and skin slowly and then all at once, like an inner itch being scratched. The draw on Midorima’s life force is becoming looser and he pumps at himself harder, desperate to come, desperate to make Midorima come, feeling both his climax and his meal just a few moments away.

 

Kazunari raises his free hand, combing the hair away from his face as his eyes flutter closed.

 

And even through the onslaught of pleasure seizing his body, Midorima can’t help but think that it is absolutely ridiculous that _that_ is what makes him come.

 

Finally, Midorima’s eyes shut hard and his hands move from Kazunari’s hips to his ass as he squeezes, his hips giving one final thrust. Kazunari pulls at his life force just a bit harder and then it all comes gushing out—Midorima’s essence pours into him from every point their skin is connected and quickly rushes up his spine, spans across his skin, seeps into his muscles, into his bones, into his blood, his very being. The full-body rush of the feeding spurs on his orgasm and he moans loud as he comes hard, unloading his seed in several jets, making a complete mess of the muscled abdomen and sculpted chest beneath him. He feels dizzy in the immediate aftermath of (what he classifies as) his double orgasm and has to fight to stay lucid, his asshole still twitching around the flagging erection inside of him and his thighs a little shaky.

When Kazunari does manage to regain a decent amount of consciousness, he keeps his eyes closed and leans forward to rest on Midorima’s chest—that is, he almost does before remembering that would lead to lying in his own rapidly cooling cum. He opens his eyes and trembles, partially at the sight of his cum splattered on Midorima's abs and chest and partially due to the spasms of pleasure still wracking through him. He could totally go for another round.

Unfortunately, Midorima definitely cannot.

The poor human is knocked out cold, identical to last time as far as Kazunari can remember—the major difference being he can actually see his chest faintly rising and falling. The look on his face is a more relaxed version of the expression he had while cumming so he looks completely satisfied. Kazunari smiles to himself and runs his tongue over one of his canines, now a grown out fang a few inches long, unable to keep from feeling aroused all over again.

 _Really wish he could go again_ , he muses as he lifts himself off of his lap one final time. The feeling of this last withdrawal is pleasurable in its own way and he can’t help but wish he could feel Midorima’s cum dripping down his thigh—

OK, seriously, he can’t get turned on again.

Kazunari lets out a soft sigh as he gets off of the bed and heads towards the bathroom, returning with a towel in tow. He wipes the mess he made off of Midorima’s skin, then wipes some remnant lube from his butt (an uncomfortable consequence of _that_ much teasing), removes and ties off the condom, and then puts his underwear on and sits back down. For a second, as he holds his phone, he remembers that foreboding e-mail from earlier that night—and plops down onto the bed with a groan. Midorima is right in the middle and, even in a bed this big (and stupidly comfy; he’d noted by now that the sheets looked _expensive_ ), he takes up most of the space. Kazunari considers gently pushing (though that would likely turn to shoving) him over but considering he just sapped him of life force and fucked him unconscious, he figures it would be rude to do that and just sidles in next to him.

He doesn’t want to think about how much crap he’s gonna get from Miyaji.

There was really only so much he could do. It’s not his fault he gets forgetful leading up to a feeding.

…Granted, he’d had a full week to get this project done, but that’s basically irrelevant since he usually gets his stuff done right before the deadline _anyway._

Maybe the e-mail won’t be that bad.

' _Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done._ '

...It’s going to be bad.

He just knows it...

 

✧

 

Kazunari _jolts_ awake.

_Did I drift off? W-what time is it?_

Kazunari raises his hand to feel around for his phone just to realize two things: that he’s still holding it and that he’s _still in his prey’s bed._ His phone reads a little after 4am and he jumps to his feet in an instant. Luckily, his phone still has enough juice to order a rideshare. Even though it’s a Friday night/Saturday morning, it’s still late (early?) enough that there are a lot fewer cars out—the closest one is a ten-minute wait. Apparently Midorima's place is a little out of the way. Kazunari pockets his phone and sits at the foot of the bed. Then he looks behind him.

Midorima is exactly as he left him—lying in bed naked, somewhat covered in rumpled sheets, unconscious.

He turns around completely and crawls back onto the bed. After softly making his way back up to his face, Kazunari stares. Now that he really looks… Midorima doesn’t look… peaceful. He looks fitful. Like he’s having a bad dream. His brow is just slightly tense and his jaw and neck look stiff. Biting his lip, Kazunari gets up from the bed again.

_I should get him some water. For when he wakes up._

After a quick minute in the kitchen, Kazunari finds bottled water in the refrigerator and returns to place one on Midorima’s nightstand. ...Then he doubles back and places another. Even after that, though, he can’t budge this feeling that he isn’t... doing enough.

_Humans get sick when they get cold, right? And he’s totally naked, so…_

Kazunari pulls the sheets over Midorima’s naked upper body, sparing one last glance at his perfect pecs and pale skin. Then he pulls the duvet over him. ...Then he pulls them both up until they’re right under his chin and he looks as comfortable as possible.

_His face still looks tense but—_

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he starts a bit, having forgotten he was waiting for a ride. Kazunari puts the last thought out of his mind and does a quick inventory of his belongings. All articles of clothing, check. Phone, check. Keys, check. Lube, check. He begins to leave but can’t help but take one last look at Midorima.

_..._

_...I’m sure he’ll be fine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hells, so I hadn't realized that it had been a year since I last updated this until a few weeks ago and then I was overcome with shame. Um, it's definitely not dead but I feel like the KnB fandom pretty much (and understandably) is. 
> 
> I'm in love with this story though and have a ton of content for it so it's definitely going to be completed. It may just take a while, personal problems, writer's block, medical stuff, job offers, international intrigue, you know how life goes.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but thank you for reading! Pleasepleaseplease leave any thoughts in the comments section! Seriously, anything. Even complaints.
> 
> I probably have some things I want to clarify about demons and shit but, as I said in the beginning note, no sleep and it's early. I'll return with clarifications later.
> 
> Stay tuned!


	5. paralysis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this chapter contains clunky exposition.  
> I tried, guys. I tried.
> 
> Also! My access to internet is unreliable af and I was far too anxious to do anything other than upload this ASAP as opposed to waiting for the next good connection to pop up. I need to do one (more; I'm super neurotic about my writing) final proofread so if that's not your thing, come back in like four days! You'll know I did what was necessary if this part of the note is gone. 
> 
> Enjoyyy

He is never going to think with his dick again.

 

Shintarou internally vows this to himself as he crouches on his knees over his toilet, head hanging over the bowl almost like he’s praying at some sort of grotesque altar.

This is divine retribution. He’s fucking certain it is and he will never procrastinate again.

Even now, though, as he’s going through the worst of this regrettably familiar hangover, he’s able to recognize that it’s not as bad as the last one. And being the logical individual that he is, he’s already noticed the pattern. It would take an idiot not to.

Every night that he’d visited Cheeky, for a month now, he’d ordered an alcoholic beverage. Last night, he’d certainly had more than usual and had been drunk for the first time in his life, but still, this— _this_ —didn’t make sense. He recalls one night in particular when he’d consumed three glasses of wine and hadn’t finished the last because he’d started to feel a bit tipsy—he’d woken up the next morning absolutely fine.

He’d woken up _every_ morning after drinking absolutely fine.

There has only been one other time he has woken up to what he is experiencing now: the lightheadedness. Vomiting. Fatigue. Intense muscle soreness but no bruising. And a new symptom: a horrible, _horrible_ headache that his normally reliable migraine medicine seemingly has no effect on.

 

Only one other time.

 

As Shintarou fights the surge of nausea rising from his gut, threatening to reach his chest and tickle at his throat, he only has one bitter thought on his mind.

 

_Kazunari._

 

✧

 

Kazunari plops down at the bar directly across from his cousin and lets out a _truly_ ridiculous sigh, loud and exaggerated enough to warrant a few weird looks from his fellow patrons.

“ _Fuuuuuckkkk…._ ” He sighs out a second time, closing his eyes and resting his head on the bar.

“Stop that,” Himuro scolds. Kazunari mumbles and ignores him, but he does open his eyes to gauge how serious he is. He then lets out a groan when he sees Himuro frowning and lifts his head back up. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, I’m just so _relieved_ to freaking be here,” Kazunari replies. “I’ve been crazy busy at work lately.”

“So that’s why you haven’t stopped by.”

Kazunari nods, trying not to think too hard on how much shit had been shoveled in his direction since his boss tore him apart about missing his deadline. Miyaji is a hard-ass about two things: insubordination and tardiness. And he’d apparently interpreted Kazunari’s quiet attempt at submitting work late as an act of defiance.

 

‘Act of defiance.’ He’d _literally_ called it that.

 

The three weeks immediately following his little stunt had been a bit of a clusterfuck. He honestly still can’t tell if Miyaji was being hard on him as a form of taking him under his wing (as evidenced by several interesting, almost mentor-like after-hours conversations they’d shared in his office about how the firm was run) or if it was borderline harassment (he’d never seen anything about picking up lunch for his entire team on his job description—let alone how hellish that experience had been without a _fucking_ _car_ ). Kazunari’s patience had just about reached its limit and the last few days had been particularly annoying, to the point where he’d seriously considered using enchantment on Miyaji, just a _little_ , to make him more agreeable and just _nicer_.

Luckily, today had been the last of it. Miyaji had called him in before he left the building to let him know he was ‘officially off of probation.’

…His own personal understanding of probation is that it’s supposed to be a _monitoring_ period, not a period of _punishment_. But, whatever, it’s over now and he finally has the time and a cause to celebrate—of course the first thing he did was head to Cheeky.

“Can I get a…” Kazunari mulls over what he wants to drink for a second. “You guys really need to get some high grade stuff here.”

“Can’t.” Himuro states it so automatically, Kazunari can tell he isn’t the first to have said this. “Too many of them around, someone could get hurt.”

“Or just sick.”

“Yes, and hospitalized,” Himuro says, glaring a bit. Kazunari reels back.

“Tat—” Himuro is _actually_ glaring now and Kazunari holds his hands out to placate him. He _insists_ on using surnames while he’s working. “Sorry! Sorry. Himuro. Is everything ok? You seem, like… tense.”

Himuro sighs and his shoulders relax just a bit. The glare is gone as he picks up a glass and absentmindedly begins polishing it. Despite it being almost 6 on a Friday, it’s fairly slow in here today granting Himuro the freedom to actually hold a conversation. Kazunari glances over to the other side of the bar by the entrance and sees Mayuzumi standing stock still, ever vigilant, but very clearly bored.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m feeling a little famished.”

“Ohhh.” _That explains the mood._ “When was the last time you ate?”

Himuro stops polishing and his eye closes as he lowers his head a little, seemingly in a gesture of either exasperation or maybe even exhaustion.

“Two months.”

Kazunari’s eyes widen at that.

“ _What?_ Really??”

Himuro resumes his polishing, tension rising back up in his posture. “It’s been very busy here, I just haven’t… had the _time_ to hunt. I mean, there has been time to, but I hate doing it when I feel like I have to. It’s almost impossible to get into it.”

Kazunari kind of understands that; while he purposely only ever feeds when he absolutely has to, he also hates that feeling of hunting under pressure—or out of desperation, in his case.

“Two months is long, though,” Kazunari muses thoughtfully. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

Himuro nods, putting the glass away and picking up another. Kazunari is sure he’s been unnecessarily polishing glasses like this for weeks now and has to hold back a joke. “I can tell he’s attracted to me and he’s easy enough to get a hold of so I could probably use him for an extended period of time. But…” Himuro purses his lips, anxious.

“But?” Kazunari mentally runs through what Himuro just said again. “Oh… does he work here?”

Himuro nods again and sighs. “It could get awkward.”

Kazunari smiles warmly then, amused by the nature of his older cousin’s worries. It isn’t that he thinks they’re trivial, it’s just…

It must seriously be _so_ nice to just worry about things like awkwardness and work relations.

Their conversation comes to a close as people begin to trickle in, though not before Kazunari places his drink order. He’s been hanging out for a little over an hour, fiddling with his phone and about to request drink number three when he notices Imayoshi enter the bar. He flashes him a grin and almost adds a wave to the greeting but he falters as two things happen:

The first thing is that he sees Midorima enter directly after his friend. His initial reaction is one of delight as it’s been a while since he saw him last. This feeling doesn’t last, however, as the second thing quickly rises in his stomach and shoots out into all four of his limbs, making his nerves feel like they’re being crushed. It takes him by complete surprise and he can’t keep from wincing and curling in on himself, immediately yanking his arm back down and turning to face the bar. He grits his teeth and clenches his fist in practiced silence as his body continues this one long, intense contraction.

And holy _fuck_ , does this one hurt _._

His eyes are screwed shut so he isn’t expecting the feeling of a hand on his back. It rubs at his upper back for a moment then runs down and caresses his side. Kazunari can tell by the touch and the scent accompanying it that it’s Imayoshi and he’s grateful for the somewhat sensual contact. Imayoshi chooses not to say anything but moves in closer, probably at least in part to provide cover for Kazunari until it passes, but this adds the comfort of his body heat. Imayoshi moves his hand from Kazunari’s side to under his shirt, then stops its journey just under the band of his boxers. Kazunari shudders at the light pressure against one of his sweet spots and focuses in on that single bit of pleasure amidst all the pain wracking his body. The more he focuses on it, the easier it becomes to do so. His brow slowly relaxes and then the rest of his body follows. The pain is still there but the cramp itself finally, _finally_ subsides.

A minute passes with the two of them like this, Imayoshi’s hand totally still against his skin with only an occasional rub to keep him stimulated and Himuro probably watching on from wherever he is behind the bar. He’s sure that to anyone else, they probably either look like a couple or like someone trying to console a friend who’s had way too much to drink way too early in the night. Kazunari’s body acts on its own and he can feel himself trying to drain life force from that one spark of pleasure at his hip. Of course, nothing of the sort happens but the act in itself tricks the hunger pains into dissipating a significant amount.

Finally, he shakily mumbles, “That’s enough. Thank you.”

Imayoshi pulls away and Kazunari opens his eyes again. He just stares at the bar in front of him, refusing to look him in the eye. Imayoshi sighs and Kazunari answers before he can say anything.

“I know.”

“I know that you know.”

There’s a moment of silence between them and Kazunari starts feeling nauseous in a way wholly unrelated to his hunger sickness. He looks up from the bar, meaning to finally address Imayoshi properly but instead his eyes zero in on Midorima at the other side of the room. He’d completely forgotten he just walked in.

His body moves faster than his mind can as he slides out of his seat. His brain _does_ catch up though and stops him from approaching Midorima. Instead, he just stands there.

“Kazunari?”

Imayoshi’s voice breaks his concentration.

“Huh?” he asks, finally looking up at him. If Imayoshi was at all worried before, he missed it. Now he looks somber, maybe even a little annoyed.

“I was saying it’s still early. We can probably go elsewhere and find you something.”

 _Some **one**_ , Kazunari thinks.

“No, I’ve got it,” he replies. He isn’t totally sure he’s got it, though. The idea he has is a bad one, a terrible one, a very risky one. If he was testing or wading into the deep end by feeding from Midorima a second time, he’s now considering saying ‘fuck it’ and just plunging headfirst right into murky, uncharted waters. But regardless of what he ends up doing, he’s already told Imayoshi he’s got it.

So it’s obviously time to walk away before he can pry and ask him what he means.

✧✧

“Do you think that’s… healthy?” Himuro wonders out loud, preparing a martini.

“It’s unnatural, at the very least.” Imayoshi takes a sip of his own drink, a pint of lager. “Abnormal, at best.”

The two incubi are staring at the modest spectacle at the other end of the bar: Kazunari chatting up the same human he’d fed from two meals in a row. To everyone else at the bar, it probably looks completely normal. Imayoshi takes another drink before speaking again, his eyes still intently watching his friend and his prey.

“The other night, I was actually relieved to see him finally being less picky about his hunting.” He comments warily. “This, though…”

“It’s definitely strange for Kazu,” Himuro says. He finally tears his gaze away. “Still, it’s better than what he normally does, right?”

Imayoshi is quiet for a long moment. Long enough that Himuro delivers the finished martini to the patron that ordered it, rings it up, and gives them their change before he speaks again.

“You don’t understand, Himuro.”

Himuro pauses, not sure how to take the sudden change in Imayoshi’s tone. This is a guy he’s known for quite some time and he’s never spoken so… seriously to him before. With his martini order done, he decides he has enough leeway to hold another conversation; it’s a slow Thursday evening, slow enough that the booths are mostly empty and all the people sitting at the bar have all been tended to.

“Alright then…” he replies, his own tone making it clear he doesn’t appreciate the _slight_ condescension in Imayoshi’s. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Imayoshi glances at him, almost as if he’d forgotten he was there to begin with and had been talking to himself, then looks away again, taking another sip.

“I know it’s unusual but is it really _that_ crazy that the guy remembers him? There’s residual attraction,” Himuro reasons. “It’s possible it’s just really strong.”

“It’s not unusual, it’s unheard of. That human should not be able to remember him— _period._ ”

“Imayoshi.” Himuro’s voice takes on a firm tone to try to shake his friend out of the weirdly stern funk he’s fallen into.

Imayoshi shakes his head. “The human is behaving strangely. He’s been behaving strangely ever since that night he came up to us. Something just doesn’t sit right with me about this.”

There’s another grim silence and Himuro lets out a sigh before pulling out a shot glass and placing it in front of Imayoshi.

“…You sound like you need a drink.”

Imayoshi eyes the shot glass dismissively, at first. Then he gives in, sighing and finishing his beer just as Himuro pours what appears to be whiskey in the small glass.

“How is it that you don’t know more about this?” Imayoshi asks, sounding a bit frustrated. “I thought the two of you were close.”

Himuro shrugs as he recaps the amber liquor. “We are, but he never talks to me about it. He always either changes the subject or makes a joke.”

Imayoshi frowns, annoyed. “Figures.” He takes the shot.

“The few times we’ve gotten close to talking about it, he gets really sensitive… so I just learned to leave it alone.”

“That works out rather well for him, doesn’t it? One less person to ‘nag’ him about eating properly,” Imayoshi bitterly muses.

Himuro lowers his voice a bit. “Is it really _that_ strange that he remembers him?”

“If it were anyone else I wouldn’t find it as disturbing. When I run into my prey after the fact, they only rarely seem to recognize me and even then it’s never anything as specific as my _name._ With Kazunari, it’s like…” He takes a moment to think and then lowers his voice, as well. “You’ve heard me call his feedings a mind melt, right?”

Himuro nods.

“No one ever remembers Takao. No one, not ever. Either their memory is obliterated or they don’t wake up. He once fucked a mutual acquaintance of ours and the guy lost three days. _Three days_ , Himuro.”

“Oh…” Himuro glances at Takao and the human again, concern flashing across his face even as he watches his little cousin smiling and flirting away. “I knew that Type 4s could do that, but… I didn’t realize _he_ did. …Or that it could be that severe.”

Imayoshi observes the somber look of contemplation on Himuro’s face and smirks. “Type 2, right? Are you thinking about how grateful you are to be normal?”

Himuro, once again, doesn’t totally appreciate the mocking tone in Imayoshi’s voice but as he looks at his cousin, remembering how upset he gets when he talks about feeding, he can’t deny it.

“Yeah. I am.”

✧✧

Kazunari knows his cousin and his friend are staring at him chatting up Midorima, but he won’t allow them to ruin his fun. And seriously, it’s _such_ a pleasant surprise to have learned that Midorima is _fun._

He may not be fun in the classic sense… he’s definitely a serious dude and even when Kazunari isn’t entrancing him, he seems to overthink his words and struggle to respond to his questions. But he’s undeniably intelligent and when Kazunari pokes and prods at him enough, he gets little glimpses of his wit and sarcasm which just _thrills_ him. He finds himself absentmindedly chewing on the straws in his vodka tonic as he listens to Midorima talk about playing piano, totally wrapped up in what he’s saying.

This human’s thoroughly fascinating.

“Do you still play?” he asks. “ _Please_ say yes.” Midorima fixes his glasses before answering.

“No. I haven’t played in close to three years.”

“Aw, that’s a bummer. Was kinda hoping to see a performance some time.”

Midorima isn’t looking at him, hasn’t been looking at him for the majority of this conversation. It hasn’t bothered Kazunari, though—he’s been content to just listen to his rumbling baritone and soak in the little ways his elegant fingers fidget with the wine glass in his hands. And his responses always make it clear that he’s paying attention.

“It… it’s not as if I’ve forgotten how to play.”

“Oh yeah? Is it like riding a bike?”

“There is some muscle memory involved, yes. I may be out of practice but as long as I know how to read music I can still…” Midorima stops himself from finishing the sentence and starts blushing. Kazunari bites down on his straws as he smiles widely.

“Still play me something?”

Midorima starts blushing even more and looks away so severely that Kazunari is suddenly making eye contact with the back of his head. He laughs out loud.

“You’re seriously the cutest…” he mumbles to himself as he sighs out the last of his laughter. Just as he finishes the statement, he turns his own head away from Midorima and screws his eyes shut as a hunger pang runs through him. It’s a good thing he’s grown used to fighting these things—he doubts any other demon could possibly suffer through them simply because they wanted to continue a normal conversation with their prey.

“You…”

Kazunari turns back to him.

“You said you work in design?”

 _He remembered_ , Kazunari thinks. Part of him is excited that he did but the other part of him wonders when exactly he told him that. He’d been trying to keep as anonymous as possible, but apparently he let his career slip at some point.

“Yeah, it’s nothing special but I get to be creative, so I’m happy.” He vaguely remembers Midorima mentioning job hunting the first time they spoke. “And what about you? How’s the job hunt going?”

He looks surprised that Kazunari remembers. No, he must be surprised that Kazunari knows this at all. Shit, he’s _really_ sucking at keeping his story straight!

“…Unfortunately, not much has changed.” Kazunari is relieved he doesn’t ask how he knows that. “The market for my field of study is slightly… limited.”

“And what field was that again?”

“Anatomy,” Midorima pushes his glasses up his nose. “With some specialization in biology.”

Kazunari whistles. “Impressive.”

Midorima shoots him a skeptical look from the side before returning his attention to his glass. He looks like he might say something for a moment but whatever it is, he apparently decides against it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Kazunari raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Go ahead.”

Midorima steadily inhales, like he’s bracing himself for something, and Kazunari gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach. His discomfort, of course, also stems from his current state of hunger but he can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about whatever Midorima is gearing up to say. The expression on his face tells him it’s something serious.

_Not serious enough to keep us from fucking, I hope._

“For some reason… in regards to the night that we met,” Midorima says and Kazunari feels his heart sink. Yep, the foreboding feeling in his gut is spot on, as usual. “My mind is almost a complete blank.”

Kazunari does some quick mental calculations as he tries to determine the best way to respond to this. Slowly, he asks, “Do you mean when you approached me at the booth?” Kazunari watches Midorima’s face intently.

“No—”

 “You mean the _first_ first time we met,” he interrupts.

Midorima finally looks at him again and says, “Yes.”

_Damn._ _OK, brain, time to think as fast as you can._

 

Takao Kazunari likes to think of himself as quick-witted. He rarely ever finds himself totally unequipped to deal with being put on the spot in social situations because he’s very good at reading atmospheres and reading people. He can usually come up with a decent joke when he’s trying to lighten the mood or deflect attention from himself. He can be counted on to share an interesting opinion or perspective when engaged in more serious conversations. He’s always been good with words, even with humans and even without explicitly charming them. That being said…

 

Never in a million years did he think he would have to explain a blackout to one of his prey.

He’s completely unprepared for this.

 

Before reaching maturity, he’d anticipated belonging to the most common feed type. His parents, _their_ parents, his sister, and all of his extended family save for one uncle are Type 2, so he’d had very little reason to entertain any other possibilities. So as a teenager, even when he’d spent a lot of time wondering about what his life as a full-fledged incubus would be like (Would sex be different with a human? What does feeding feel like? Would hunting be easy like everyone said or was it secretly hard and adults were just pretending to know what they were doing?), he’d always expected to just be… normal. His time spent hunting and feeding would consist of seducing an attractive, willing human, absorbing their energy through sexual contact, and then doing whatever came most naturally after that—sometimes that might be getting dressed and going home, sometimes that might be hanging out and cuddling for a bit, and sometimes that would mean going straight to sleep. Or going for a second round, maybe a third. Rinse and repeat every week or so.

But he didn’t mature into a Type 2 incubus.

Kazunari quickly had to adjust his expectations—he would only hunt when strictly necessary, when he was _truly_ hungry. He could only engage in feedings in the homes of his prey in case they didn’t survive. He would have to come up with a diet plan that would affect as few humans as possible and never stray from it. Sex with humans outside of feeding was entirely out of the question. He could only date other demons and he couldn’t expect to get to know any human after sleeping with them.

Or rather, he couldn’t expect to get to know any _prey_ after he’d _fed_ from them.

Since Kazunari adjusted to his rather chaste existence as a Type 4 incubus, he hasn’t been even remotely prepared for this sort of confrontation from a human.

Sure, _maybe_ he should have thought it possible when Midorima came up to him the night after they first fucked. But he’d explained it away to himself as Midorima’s memory just being unexpectedly, like, _resilient_. There were clearly still holes in his recollection of that night—so what if he managed to remember _one_ thing?

 

And when everyone else has either forgotten entirely or died, why would he ever expect anyone to actually remember?

 

So he finds himself having to think faster than he ever has in his life.

 

✦

 

He finally did it. He finally got it out.

“Gimme a sec, let me think… that was like two months ago…”

It _had_ been two months since Midorima’s first night at Cheeky. He’d been here almost every weekend since then.

“Um…” Kazunari sighs a bit. “OK. I came up here and hit on you,” he says, indicating their seats with his hands. “Then we went to your place and hit it. Sound about right?”

_…_

_…No._ Shintarou’s expression hardens when Kazunari doesn’t continue. _Is he being serious?_

 “Please be more specific. I…” Shintarou isn’t sure if he should reveal that he blacked out or if he should obscure the truth a bit. “I have a hard time remembering that night.”

Kazunari’s eyes shift in that moment. They don’t exactly light up but… it’s something close to that.

“What exactly _do_ you remember?” he asks.

Once again, Shintarou considers obfuscating what really happened but… for whatever reason he’s come to… _trust_ Kazunari. It makes very little sense—they’ve only met each other a handful of times and, as far as he can remember, this very night is the first time they’re actually holding a real conversation. Still, in the last hour and a half that they’ve been talking, Kazunari has been… normal. Flirty, mysterious, and giggly, yes, but he hasn’t been trying to seduce him or even brought up the subject of sex.

Shintarou is practically a virgin, even more so because he can barely remember ever having sex, and he’s definitely inexperienced when it comes to reading the intentions of sexy strangers. He knows this.

And yet, he can’t help but think of Kazunari as more of a sexy acquaintance. One who means no harm.

…At least he thinks not.

“I sort of remember the bartender and having some drinks…” he begins, still not totally sure he’s playing this correctly. He lowers his gaze in thought as he tries to recall everything. “The only thing I can say I remember clearly is meeting you and you telling me your name.” He feels a slight blush creeping onto his face as he admits that embarrassing fact. “Other than that, it’s all incredibly vague. I just know that you were at my home. …But I suppose you just explained that.” Shintarou purses his lips, frustrated. He is not at all satisfied with this.

If that’s all that happened, why can’t he remember?

He must have had a lot to drink, as he originally theorized. It’s the only sound explanation for why he was so violently ill the morning after, although… as he thinks that, he recalls the more recent morning after he’d had sex with Kazunari.

 

The second time they’d had sex apparently.

 

Something isn’t adding up.

 

Hardly any of it adds up. It is just _so_ out of character for him to have gotten _that_ drunk his first night out at a bar and, possibly undeserved trust aside, Kazunari continues to be very evasive about it.

“Do you know if I had too much to drink that night? I can’t think of why else I have forgotten so much and…”

Shintarou looks at Kazunari again and is surprised by what he sees—there’s a slight grimace on Kazunari’s face until their eyes meet and it’s immediately gone. What takes its place, however, is a soft frown and an even softer look of…

Sadness in his eyes?

Kazunari poises his hand over his forehead and closes his eyes.

“Alright.” He sighs. “The truth is when we met, you were pretty drunk and we didn’t really talk for long before deciding to go to your place. I didn’t realize you were _that_ drunk.” Kazunari opens his eyes and stares at his bottle of beer. “I don’t usually give my names to one night stands, so I was really surprised when you approached me the next day. …So I panicked and pretended not to know you.” He reaches out and holds his bottle like he’s going to drink from it but begins fidgeting with it instead, his fingers wiping the condensation off of it. His eyes darken. “I’m sorry.”

Then he stands up.

“I understand if you want me to leave you alone.”

Shintarou’s brow furrows, entirely caught off-guard. “What?”

“I lied and I kept acting like everything is alright when it hasn’t been.”

“No, that—” Isn’t what’s been bothering him, he wants to say.

“It’s fine,” Kazunari insists, forcing a smile. Shintarou is astonished at how quickly his expression has crumbled into a picture of tired dejection. “It’s a shame you didn’t remember, though. Best one night stand I’ve ever had.”

“What—” Shintarou finds himself wildly confused by Kazunari’s choice of words here. It isn’t a one night stand if there’s been _two_ of them. Instead of bothering to ask for clarification, though, he reaches out and grabs Kazunari’s wrist to keep him from walking away. Kazunari turns back, signs of that inexplicably crushed expression still on his face. Shintarou has to find his breath to speak again, his mind a torrent of questions. There is one prevailing thought, however.

 

_If it’s just a misunderstanding, why on earth do you look so sad?_

 

“Kazunari.”

Realizing he’s holding him a bit too hard, he loosens his grip.

“It’s fine. I believe you.”

And… he does.

He isn’t sure what is compelling this trust in a relative stranger but once the words are out, he realizes it’s true. He does believe Kazunari.

Kazunari’s face goes almost blank in that moment, still a bit sad but clearly not sure of what to say. Shintarou swallows hard and, since Kazunari hasn’t budged since he grabbed him, he pulls the shorter man back to him. Kazunari gazes up at him as the distance shrinks between them and Shintarou briefly considers how severe their height difference is. It… isn’t a bad thing. Kazunari walks in even closer so that he’s now standing between Shintarou’s legs.

He isn’t even sure _when_ he turned in his seat to face him.

“Listen,” he says finally, softly enough that surely only Shintarou could hear him. Kazunari places his hands on his shoulders and his eyes burn into him.

 

Then, instead of saying anything, he leans in and kisses him.

 

Shintarou’s eyes shut immediately. Kazunari’s hands smoothly trail up from his broad shoulders to caress his neck and he feels that familiar warm chill that he’s come to associate with the hopeless attraction he feels towards this man. And it really is utterly hopeless. There is nothing he can do but blush, pull him closer, and part his lips when Kazunari’s tongue seeks entrance. Nothing to do but crane his neck down further as Kazunari lifts himself up more to close the gap in their height, nothing but to exhale shakily through his nose when Kazunari makes incredibly hot movements inside his mouth and runs a hand up his neck and into his hair. He does manage to faintly wonder if this is how good kissing is supposed to feel; if he has just done it wrong the select times he’s managed to find himself in such a situation or if Kazunari is just a phenomenal kisser.

It’s probably a mix of both.

When Kazunari finally pulls away, he feels… _loss._ It’s just for a second but the feeling is heavy and settles in the very bottom of his heart; he almost pulls Kazunari back in for another kiss to get rid of the feeling but it’s suddenly gone and Shintarou’s other senses finally return to him, including his sense of propriety.

 

…Dear god, was he seriously just making out in a bar?

 

He blushes heavily at the realization and then Kazunari speaks again.

“Can we go to your place?” The look in his eyes is lusty but there is a tone of pleading in his voice.

 

And of course, Shintarou says yes.

 

✦

 

There is something different about the way they kiss and undress this time. Shintarou can tell even though he has no memory of the first time and the second is blurry in places. At the very least, he’s determined to be more active than he was last time and Kazunari seems to enjoy it. Each time Shintarou kisses him first, Kazunari stops whatever he’s doing with their clothes and holds onto him to kiss him back, devoting full attention to it. When they’re finally down to just their underwear, Kazunari walks toward the bed as he assaults him with kisses. Shintarou takes steps backwards but manages to turn the tables just before he bumps into his bed. At the last moment, he pulls Kazunari into him and then turns him around—Kazunari falls back onto the perfectly made bed with a soft, dulled _thump_ followed by a breathless laugh.

He gazes up at him with a smirk and a warm look in his eyes.

Shintarou follows after him and brings their lips together again, Kazunari moaning into him, instantly parting his lips. Shintarou accepts the invitation to takes charge of the kiss and tries to focus on the sounds Kazunari’s making, the smell of hair, the feeling of Kazunari’s skin against his skin as he writhes underneath him, the bulge in his underwear rubbing against his own. He tries to focus on these things and _not_ on the insecurity and concern that he’s kissing him wrong, that this is only the third person he’s ever kissed, that this is only the third time he’s ever done _this_ (and the first time might as well not count since he can’t even remember it).

Kazunari ends their kiss suddenly and for a brief moment, Shintarou is terrified that all his concerns are justified. Then Kazunari pulls away and smiles at him.

“You’re doing great,” he chuckles. Kazunari’s eyes make a slight dip and he licks, then bites his bottom lip. “Can’t you tell?”

Shintarou goes still, shocked at how accurately he was able to read him. But then he closes his eyes and leans down to kiss him again, deciding that that doesn’t matter as much as Kazunari’s approval does. Kazunari smiles against his lips and begins pulling Shintarou’s underwear down, though he doesn’t bother with removing them completely once he’s got a hand firmly grasping his cock. Shintarou lets out a stuttered groan at the feeling of another’s hand rubbing along his shaft. He’s the one to pull away from their kiss this time, instead opting to pant into the sheets next to Kazunari’s ear as he gets jacked off with expert care.

Unable to react, far too focused on what’s happening to his dick, he feels Kazunari push against his shoulder and suddenly he’s on his back again, Kazunari straddling him. He’s also totally naked—somehow that happened while he was otherwise occupied with his hand. Kazunari gives him a sly smile, as if he was amused by Shintarou’s little display of initiative earlier but that it’s ultimately his show.

And it’s a show that Shintarou must admit he has no problem lying back and enjoying.

 

✧

Kazunari takes a deep breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes as he lets the hot water work its rejuvenating magic.

 _Honestly, no one has the right to have a shower with water pressure_ this _amazing._

Normally, he would never ever clean up at his prey’s house. For real, not ever—it just feels too much like taking advantage on top of poor manners. But he’s already broken so many rules with Midorima. Tonight makes for the _third_ time he’s fed from him despite his personal rule to never hunt the same prey. He straight up lied to his face back at the bar even though he’s always tried his hardest to be as honest as possible with his prey. He’d fallen asleep _again_ after feeding last night, this time more out of comfort than exhaustion—it turns out Midorima is surprisingly cuddly. And now he’s using his bathroom for something other than fetching a towel or taking a post-coital piss.

But what, was he supposed to just get in a car home with jizz in his hair?

Without even realizing, he’s started humming. There’s this strange sense of absolute comfort here. With Midorima, actually. They get along well enough and he’s super hot and adorable and somehow has the ability to survive his feedings. There’s also a nagging feeling inside him about all of this: about the comfort, about Midorima’s resilience… but he drowns it out with the sound of his humming and positive thoughts.

 

✦

 

Shintarou opens his eyes slowly, wearily. His vision is, of course, blurry but he can make out that he’s lying on his back, looking at the ceiling of his bedroom. He wonders what time it is but when he attempts to lift his arm, nothing happens. Finding that odd, he tries to lift his head. Then he tries to lift his other arm.

Nothing. 

The only things that respond to him are his eyelids, but seemingly on some sort of delay.

At first, he just finds it baffling that his body is refusing to move. It isn’t until he feels movement at the end of the bed that his blood runs cold and panic sets in. Then there’s a low buzzing noise, the sound of a phone vibrating.

 

“You’re outside?”

 

Shintarou wants to let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Kazunari’s voice, his panic subsiding a bit as he realizes what the other presence in the room is. Now he can’t decide on whether he should be focusing on trying to talk or trying to move his fingers. Nothing he does has any effect on either of those faculties, though, and he quickly gives up.

He can’t move.

“OK, I’m coming down now.”

There’s more movement at the foot of the bed, ultimately ending with a weight being lifted from the mattress. Shintarou still can’t speak, still can’t move his arms or his legs, but finds control over his neck coming back bit by agonizing bit. He can only _barely_ move it and it takes so long that when he finally does manage to catch a glimpse of anything other than his ceiling, it’s the blurred sight of Kazunari pulling on a coat as he closes the door and leaves.

Shintarou lets his head fall back heavily. It’s only a few inches but considering how much effort it took to lift in the first place, it really does feel like lowering a weight. It feels like hours, though it is likely just minutes before Shintarou slowly begins regaining control over his body. It starts with his fingers and then finally he’s able to blink normally. Next he’s able to move his mouth. It is when he finally is able to emit a strained groan, a sound that is more like someone punching him in the gut, that his panic truly goes away. He takes deep, gulping breaths as he feels his arms and legs twitch back into responsiveness.

 

And then he falls back asleep.

 

✦

  

When Shintarou does wake up again, he experiences another of his 'hangovers': nausea, soreness, and a nasty headache. He does notice one exception to it, however. Well, it would be impossible not to notice it.

He isn't throwing up. And more than that, after a shower and some breakfast, he feels... kind of fine.

He is already sure of what's caused this significantly less terrible morning after. Despite how long he and Kazunari had talked last night--a conversation that he is beyond relieved to realize he remembers clearly--he'd kept his drinking to a minimum.

Just a single glass of wine.

Drinking alone does not cause him to feel sick. Drinking  _does_ seem to affect him when he also has sex, if such a thing is possible. So now he knows what he has to do next

Bartenders be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughgh, I'm so unhappy with how I get into feeding types here. Butttt, it's out now and that was probably the most awkward exposition you'll see in the whole story, thank goodness lol.
> 
> Look at me! Updating! Kind of soon!  
>  Ain't life great?


	6. getting to know you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time actually writing a date out for a fic and thus it turned into a 16K monster.
> 
> Is it painfully obvious that I have no concrete setting for this story yet?
> 
> Enjoy!

For as long as Kazunari has known him, Imayoshi has had the absolutely annoying quality of almost always being right. Part of it is that he’s shockingly intuitive for someone somewhat self-centered. Part of it is that he’s kind of, like, a _genius_ and has a depth of knowledge unlike anyone else Kazunari knows _._ Yet another contributing factor is that he is very good at picking up on patterns—particularly, the patterns the people around him exhibit.

And it doesn’t help that he finds provoking others amusing.

This is why, at the moment, Kazunari is desperately scoping the room for other people to hang around. Well, that alone isn’t the reason—he’s known Imayoshi since they were kids and has had ample time to get used to his personality. And his tendency to be right can actually be _very_ helpful when he’s not shoving it in someone’s face or needling it into their side. No, he’s trying to get far away from this booth right now because Ima-kun brought along one of his least favorite people on the planet today—fucking Hanamiya. It makes sense that Imayoshi would enjoy the company of someone almost as gifted as himself at delivering scathing insults and vague provocations under the thin, caustic veil of pleasantries… but yeah, being the third wheel to these two once they get going is _truly_ uncomfortable as _fuck_.

_Seriously, they need to just get a room and fuck all of this hostility out of their systems._

As far as Kazunari knows, Imayoshi and Hanamiya _haven’t_ hooked up yet. Although maybe that’s for the best? There’s no telling whether that would solve their weird need to antagonize each other or just ramp things up further…

…Probably the latter.

Then, as if a sign from the devil himself, the double doors of Cheeky’s entrance open and Kazunari can’t help but grin. Midorima’s walked in just as he unintentionally tunes back into Imayoshi’s conversation.

“…bruised and bloody.” Imayoshi smiles as he finishes that sentence.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Hanamiya snarls back.

Kazunari gets goosebumps and can’t think of a better line to exit on than _that_ one.

“ _Well_ ,” he interrupts before he hears anything else. “It was _really_ nice chatting with you guys but I think I’m done here. Later!”

As he gets up from his seat, Imayoshi firmly says, “Stop.”

Kazunari freezes and looks back at his friend. He’s no longer wearing his crooked smile and instead the expression behind his glasses is even harder to read than usual.

“We need to talk.”

“Um, ok…” He glances over at Hanamiya who looks aggressively annoyed, though that _is_ one of the faces he tends to make when talking to Imayoshi. “Right now?”

“Yes. Makoto, could you give us a moment?”

“Fine,” he says. His tone is gruff but he gets up without complaint and it is times like these, when Hanamiya goes from murderous vibes to suddenly accommodating, that Kazunari really doesn’t understand their ‘friendship’—like _at_ _all._ Regardless of that, however, Kazunari sits back down once Hanamiya’s begun making his way to the bar.

“What do we need to talk about…?”

“You and that human.”

Kazunari’s brow twitches. He probably should have seen this coming.

“What about him?” he asks.

“Something is not right about him and you know it.”

“What?” He’s incredulous at the dramatic turn this seems to be taking. “What do you mean by ‘not right’?”

“You mean to tell me you aren’t at all disturbed by his ability to remember you?”

Kazunari feels his nerves start to take over at that spot-on question. He places his hands under his thighs to keep them from fidgeting in Imayoshi’s sight.

“Well… yeah, it’s weird—”

“It isn’t just weird, Kazunari. It never happens.”

Kazunari shrugs. “Well, apparently it does.”

“I’m not just referring to your personal track record,” Imayoshi retorts, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve been looking into this for some time and there is no record— _none—_ of any human behaving as that one has after sex with our Type. Specifically after the second or third time, he should have either been dead or comatose, Kazunari. And he should _not_ have remembered you the way he did after the first; that I am sure you know for yourself.” Imayoshi’s eyes actually open a bit and he makes icy eye contact with Kazunari—that’s how he knows he’s in deep shit.

 

“You need to leave it alone or you risk being discovered.”

 

Kazunari feels like he’s been punched in the chest. His face scrunches up and he scoffs in astonishment.

 

“ _Excuse_ _me?_ ”

 

To suggest that a demon’s actions put them at risk of being discovered by a human is to accuse that person of being either incredibly reckless or incredibly _stupid_ —usually both. And to top things off, he can’t _stand_ to hear Imayoshi refer to Midorima as ‘that human’, as if his name is a dirty word or, more likely, just not worth stating. Imayoshi _never_ forgets names—he only omits one when he’s decided he can’t be bothered with it.

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you but are you being fucking _serious?_ ” Kazunari spits back, leaning forward. “You seriously think I can’t handle myself enough to keep him from _discovering_ _me?_ ” Anger flares up in him _hard_ , completely replacing any feelings of trepidation he’d had from the beginning of the conversation. “You really think that little of me, Imayoshi??”

“It’s not a matter of thinking little of you,” Imayoshi says, chuckling slightly. “I’m simply advising you to stay away from him because it’s obvious that if you keep having sex with a human who is capable of remembering you, you will eventually slip up and yes, somehow be discovered.”

“You don’t know what the _hell_ you’re talking about.” He’s just about ready to stand up again.

“Ask yourself this, Kazunari: do you really believe that human is just some sort of exception to the rule? Do you really not find it odd that he’s survived not one, not two, but _three_ of your feedings? Again, we are talking about _your_ feedings, not mine or some other 4’s.”

“I-I don’t know!” he sputters. “Does it matter?? It’s a _good_ thing he can survive them, why are you making it out to be something terrible?!” Imayoshi just crosses his arms, looking unconvinced. “ _You’re_ the one who’s always complaining that I’m not—” He’s interrupted by a large sigh and rolling of the eyes from Imayoshi.

“For _hell’s sake,_ that isn’t complaining, it’s _concern for your health._ And so is this. He isn’t a virgin anymore. He isn’t even that inexperienced at this point, so there is no way you are getting enough energy from—”

“ _I feel fine—_ ”

“—I know that you _wish_ you were different, but you need to _grow up._ ” Imayoshi clasps a hand over one side of his face then and sighs again, reeling back from his own outburst. Kazunari’s trembling with anger, already knowing what he’s about to say.

“Look, how many times have I been right in our friendship?”

Kazunari doesn’t answer. Because the answer is ‘almost always.’

“If nothing else, just _trust_ me on this. Please. You have to stop feeding from that human—”

“His name is Midorima, you can stop calling him that. Hell, you could at least say ‘ _him’!_ ”

“I’m not concerned with his goddamned name, Kazunari, I’m concerned with you _starving_ _yourself!_ ”

Kazunari slides his way out of the booth.

“I am _not_ finished with you,” Imayoshi calls after him, tone tired but resolute.

“I am,” Kazunari replies. And then he simply walks away from the conversation.

 

He’s sick, _so sick_ and tired of hearing about his eating habits.

 

As long as it means keeping someone’s life out of danger, he will gladly deny himself regular feeding. The physical pain of being low on life force is nothing, _nothing_ compared to the emotional agony of pulling away from someone and realizing they’ve died.

Realizing that he’s killed them.

Thinking about what their parents go through. Their friends.

He will gladly suffer through an entire life of hunger pains if he can keep that from happening to as many people as possible. A human’s life, a demon’s life—they are of the same value. _Exactly_ the same.

 

And Imayoshi and the demons like him will never understand that.

 

Making his way to the bar, he can tell Imayoshi’s gotten up, too. Glancing behind himself, he sees that he’s leaning over the bar and talking to Himuro.

 _Goddamn him,_ he thinks, walking faster. _He’s gonna turn this into a national fucking emergency._

He doesn’t even greet Midorima once he reaches him, he just grabs his arm and tugs him out of his seat. The poor boy is clearly taken completely off-guard by this but manages to find his footing quickly enough and walk behind him. Just to make sure he follows him all the way out, without any hesitation that might cause them to stop and discuss things and be found by Himuro (who is probably going to begin scouring the premises for him in a minute), he exudes a bit of demonic charm—just enough to keep him compliant for the moment.

Instead of heading to the entrance, he leads Midorima over to where the bathrooms are, then strides past them and steps over a set of rope barriers bearing a ‘Staff Only’ sign standing in front of a pair of large, drawn curtains.

 _Then_ Midorima finally speaks up.

“This area is restrict—”

“I know. Come on.”

He loosens his hold on Midorima’s arm, having realized it was a bit of a vice grip but continues leading him through the curtains. They finally come to a stop as the curtains swing closed again and they’re plunged into total darkness—the curtains are super heavy and block out all light save for a small stream of it at the very bottom. Kazunari feels around the wall to his right.

“Should be… around… got it.”

The lights come on and reveal that they are in another foyer, one complete with a host’s station and plush waiting chairs. The room that it opens into is a dining room, though clearly an unfinished one. Kazunari pulls Midorima through again, careful not to disturb the construction material and paint cans littering the floor beneath them. They finally get to the doors at the opposite end of the room and Midorima speaks up again.

“Kazunari, this feels _very_ off-limits. How did you even know this was here?”

“I know the owners. We’re almost outside.”

“If we are just going outside, why exactly are we leaving in the most roundabout way possible?”

Kazunari pushes the doors open, revealing Cheeky’s partially furnished kitchen, before glancing back and giving Midorima a mischievous smile. “We’re escaping.”

Midorima clearly has questions about _that_ but apparently decides to keep them to himself as Kazunari continues to lead him through the kitchen. And then they reach their destination—Cheeky’s alley exit.

“ _Finally_ ,” he mumbles to himself.

The brisk air of the winter evening blows against Kazunari’s face and he greets it with an exaggerated sigh of relief, relishing in the huge cloud of vapor that leaves his lungs. He can already feel the tension from his fight with Imayoshi fading away and the anger begins to dissipate, too, which is exactly what he needs. The last thing he wants is to be angry around Midorima—it would be like letting Imayoshi win, in a way. Kazunari finally lets go of his arm and turns to face him, dialing back the charm until it’s totally gone.

“Sorry for dragging you out like that. It just felt kinda suffocating tonight.”

Midorima raises an eyebrow, probably confused because Cheeky isn’t crowded at all tonight. But he doesn’t question it and instead asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah…” he lies, nodding. He looks up at Midorima’s face, thankful for the decent lighting of the lamp poised above the kitchen’s exit in the otherwise dark alley. It makes it easier to see his emerald eyes and gorgeous eyelashes, easier to get lost in them. “Yeah.”

With that declaration, he pulls Midorima down to him and kisses him. Midorima makes a cute, muffled sound but leans into it and holds him at the waist, pulling him closer. Then Midorima pulls away.

“Can we…” he starts, blushing a tiny bit.

“Can we what?” Kazunari smiles devilishly, wondering if Midorima’s too shy to ask to just go home and fuck already.

“Can we _not_ kiss here? We… we’re right next to a dumpster.”

Kazunari turns his attention to the dumpster several feet away from them and then fails to keep in a _huge_ laugh.

“Oh my god!”

He covers his mouth and leans into Midorima’s chest, cackling and then giggling the whole time. He’s nearly shaking with how funny that is—yeah, he’d been way too caught up to even think about how Midorima + dumpster in an alley were probably not a harmonious combination.

“Kazunari,” Midorima states flatly, clearly not amused.  Kazunari snickers some more before pulling away and trying to get it together.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry! Oh god… yeah, let’s get out of here, my bad.” He giggles some more and grabs Midorima’s wrist to lead him out of the alley. He lets out an amused sigh and repeats, “Sorry about that.”

They reach Midorima’s car, having taken a long time to make their way to the front of Cheeky—and his plan seems to have worked as neither Imayoshi nor Himuro is out looking for him. Outside was probably the first place they looked and when he was already out of sight, they might have thought about searching the back. Kazunari smirks to himself, feeling triumphant.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Midorima asks again. Kazunari doesn’t have to look behind him to see his face; he can hear the concern in his voice. So he doesn’t look and he just nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, this time meaning it a bit more. He tries to open the passenger door but it’s locked. Midorima presses the button on his keys to unlock the car.

Once Midorima’s settled in the driver’s seat and has the car turned on, he asks, “Is there a specific place you wanted to go?”

Kazunari mulls it over.

He… hadn’t really thought this far ahead. But he needs to think fast because Midorima’s windows are _not_ tinted and Himuro is one of those surprisingly intense people that wouldn’t really hesitate to pull him out of a stranger’s car if he was pissed off or worried enough.

And as if on cue, his phone rings.

Kazunari closes his eyes, thinking through his options as the ringtone, a rock song that he was super into a year ago and has been meaning to change for months, plays on.

“Your phone is—”

“Do you like pizza?”

 

✦

 

“I can’t believe this. Are you _seriously_ eating that with a _knife and fork?_ ”

“Of course I am. The size of this slice is absolutely preposterous. Not to mention the amount of oil…” Shintarou mumbles that last part to himself more than to Kazunari. He also fights back a grimace despite his serious apprehension about subjecting himself to a food so shamelessly greasy. He’d ordered two slices off of a vegetarian pizza, hoping to potentially counteract the damage this was going to do to his body with the smattering of broccoli and spinach hiding amidst layers and layers of cheese. He must make some sort of face despite himself because Kazunari starts laughing.

“I know it’s kinda scary, but trust me, it’s _amazing._ ” As if to prove it, he folds the first of his slices down the middle—a necessity since the entire thing is about the size of his face—and he takes a huge chomp out of it. Kazunari’s pizza slices were cut from an ungodly monster labeled ‘Meatsplosion’.

Its base sauce is barbecue, for god’s sake.

But surely enough, the look on Kazunari’s face after he takes a bite of it is pure bliss, so Shintarou buckles down and hesitantly places the first forkful in his mouth.

…And it really is the best pizza he’s ever tasted.

Surely, his opinion would be different if he’d managed to sample some more… _authentic_ pizza during a certain family vacation in Venice several years ago but… seriously, this is very, _very_ good.

“Good, right?” Kazunari asks, having just swallowed his first bite.

Shintarou simply nods instead of answering, partly because he’s still chewing but mostly because Kazunari has this annoyingly pleased smile on his face that he refuses to satisfy with his true thoughts. With how smug he looks, he has a strong feeling that Kazunari is totally aware of how much he likes it, anyway.

The two of them are sitting next to each other on stools at yet another bar, though it would probably be better described as a long counter, directly against the small shop’s glass storefront. They spend the next few minutes in intermittent conversation, both of them mostly concentrating on eating—Shintarou focuses on blotting off the offending oil with the napkins from the dispenser and Kazunari seemingly just focuses on stuffing himself with as much pizza as possible. He’s ordered three slices and Shintarou can’t help but think he’s not going to finish them. It’s actually quite shocking to see him eat something so terribly unhealthy with so much gusto considering how good his skin looks and how fit he is. …Then he blushes for so blatantly thinking of Kazunari’s body while they’re just sitting down and sharing a meal together—and for the first time, too.

And that’s when it strikes him.

How did it take him this long to realize?

 

Is this a date…?!

 

Suddenly, the act of cutting and eating his food becomes more mechanical as his mind goes into overdrive.

 _How did I agree to this so casually? Why did he_ suggest _it so casually?_

_Should we be talking more?_

_I cannot tell at all if he put some thought into this or if he simply needs a distraction. I suppose being a distraction wouldn’t necessarily mean it_ isn’t _a date. Aren’t dates just distractions to some people?_

_Is Kazunari that type of person?_

Just as Shintarou is about to chase that particular thought, Kazunari smirks.

“You think _way_ too much,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin. He still has a slice and a half left to go. “I can practically see steam pouring from your ears, you know.”

“That… may be true,” he admits. “But I would hardly be a respectable scientist if I thought too little.”

“Yeah, but you’re not doing any science stuff right now! We’re just enjoying each other’s company, right? Eating pizza on a Saturday night, you know?”

“I… You’re right.”

“For real, though, I can _not_ believe I’ve slept with a guy who eats pizza with a fork. I usually hold myself to higher standards.”

Shintarou can’t help but flinch internally at that, unsure if Kazunari’s teasing him or possibly using a lighthearted tone to make a genuine complaint. His attention’s drawn back to Kazunari’s face by a swift but gentle kick to his shin under the table.

“I’m _kidding~_ ” Kazunari chuckles and smiles sweetly. “Honestly, I think I would have been _more_ surprised to see you get your hands all greasy like the rest of us plebeians.” He gestures to himself and the other people occupying the tiny pizzeria.

Shintarou can’t help but flinch at that, too, but this time it’s evident in the way his brow creases and he breaks eye contact. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Kazunari raises his eyebrows and his eyes go wide. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

Shintarou shoots him a less than happy look, silently asking what he possibly _could_ have meant.

“I just mean like…” Kazunari looks thoughtful for a moment. “You’re obviously smart and you give off this… _air._ An important one. In a good way!” he asserts. “Plus the anatomy degree and the scientist thing?” He adds, laughing a bit. “You’re totally out of my league! I seriously can’t believe you agreed to get pizza with me…”

That last part is sort of mumbled and… _unbelievably_ , as Kazunari takes sips from his soft drink, _he_ breaks eye contact this time and Shintarou sees a faint hint of color hit his cheeks.

“Oh.” His heart flutters a bit at the sight and he has to fight back his _own_ blush. “I see.”

Kazunari looks at him again and smiles back as he takes another sip from his straw.

They sit there silently blushing at each other for a few seconds before Shintarou clears his throat, turns even pinker, and returns his gaze to the paper plate before him.

He swears he can _feel_ the smirk on Kazunari’s face.

Their conversation continues, once again punctuated by small pockets of silence as they tackle their food. Kazunari asks Midorima about what university he attended, a little more about what it was like studying anatomy, and brings up his piano-playing again. By now, Shintarou has noticed what all of Kazunari’s conversation topics have in common—none of them are about him. Somehow, they’ve managed to span the topics of his Master’s, his passing interest in historical nonfiction, and his job interview last week without discussing Kazunari’s own stint in college (if he’d gone at all), any hobbies of his own, or anything going on in his life currently. Admittedly, it’s nice—very nice—to have someone to talk to about these things other than his sister and Akashi. It’s… much nicer than he previously thought it would be… having someone get to know him.

That being said, this conversation is practically an interview in itself and while it’s a pleasant relief to realize that Kazunari seems so genuinely _interested_ in him… he wants to know just as much about Kazunari. He tries but…

“…I do sometimes wonder how things would be right now if I had chosen to go into medicine, but… there isn’t any point in dwelling on it. It’s not as if I’m the only person to wonder what could have been.”

“Totally. Oh, and how did that interview go?”

…But Kazunari is a _master_ of deflection and just keeping the conversation going without boring him, or accidentally slipping into deep thought, or blushing is already enough of a challenge for Shintarou.

“Well enough. They offered me the job.”

Kazunari’s eyes widen and he puts his slice back on his plate, right as he was on the verge of another bite. (Shintarou isn’t sure if he’s impressed or a bit concerned by his ability to actually eat this much.)

“ _What??_ Midorima, that’s _awesome!_ ” A wide grin splits his face and Shintarou’s a bit stunned by it—he reasons that’s why one corner of his mouth lifts a little. Unsurprisingly, Kazunari catches his almost-smile and just grins wider. “I’m so happy for you! Crap, I totally should have bought you a congratulatory drink back at Cheeky…”

“No, I… I prefer this.”

“Really?” Kazunari asks, smirking now. “You prefer a couple slices of cheap pizza to a fancy glass of white?”

_He knows my drink preference…_

“Well, for one thing, I will admit that this pizza _is_ surprisingly good.” He ignores the victorious smirk Kazunari flashes him. “And as for the other, it is far easier to talk to you outside of… that place.”

(Shintarou still refuses to say ‘Cheeky’ in a sentence.)

The smirk on Kazunari’s face softens at that and he looks back down at his plate, an unmistakable air of embarrassment around him. He doesn’t blush this time but he doesn’t need to—Shintarou can tell he’d really liked hearing that.

“So…” he starts, sounding just a little hesitant. “S-so, you said it was kind of hard finding stuff in your field. Will you be working in anatomy after all?”

Shintarou cringes. “Not exactly. …Not at all, actually.” He takes a sip from his bottle of water, feeling bitter again just talking about it. “The position is for a genetics research institution.”

“Oh… yeah, I don’t know much about science but that’s definitely not the same thing.” Kazunari sips on his straw again and looks away in thought, only speaking again when his cup makes it audibly clear that it’s empty. “Well, if they want you then they probably have something in mind for you, right?”

“Presumably,” he admits. He’s sure Akashi wouldn’t have him hired solely as a favor, but still… “Though I do hope they’ll have me doing something relevant to anatomy _and_ actually significant.”

“You really care about that, don’t you?” Kazunari chuckles. “Doing something meaningful in your chosen field.” He smiles some more. “I like that.”

Shintarou isn’t even sure why but he blushes again. In fact, he blushes _a lot._ An embarrassing amount.

“I don’t know that it’s anything like that,” he replies, trying to brush it off. Why did Kazunari have to go and phrase it with so much sentimentality??

“Nope, it totally is. You’re like super passionate about anatomy,” he remarks, laughing. “I can tell now.”

Shintarou huffs, annoyed, and makes a point of looking away from Kazunari. “I am an anatomist. It only makes sense for me to work _within_ the field of anatomy. I didn’t pursue my Master’s to waste it on something else.” And while he is looking away to try to hide the persistent red on his cheeks, he is mostly trying to hide the slightest of smiles on his lips.

 

✦

 

They are walking back to the car in a comfortable silence, and Shintarou is preoccupying himself with wondering how his stomach will fare after such an unhealthy departure from his normal meals (and in the same vein, wondering how often Kazunari eats at that place—the cashier definitely seemed to _know_ him), when Kazunari stops in his tracks and suddenly pulls out his phone. Shintarou stops just a couple of paces after him and turns to watch, pulled out of his thoughts by this curious action. Kazunari looks back up at him just as suddenly as he’d stopped walking and he looks as if inspiration has struck him.

“Okay, I know it’s getting late, but hear me out,” he begins, pocketing his phone. “I know this _really_ good ice cream shop. I don’t know if you’re into sweets but I think you’ll like it!”

Shintarou hesitates. He _is_ supposed to meet with Akashi in the morning and it _is_ getting late… Then again, it’s not like he’d gone to Cheeky without the expectation of being up this late in the first place.

“Are you sure it’s open?” he asks, pulling out his own phone to check the time. It’s only a few minutes until midnight.

Kazunari nods eagerly and the bright look of excitement in his eyes…

Shintarou nods.

“ _Yes!_ ” Kazunari cheers and Shintarou’s heart does _flips_ in his chest.

_Is he that excited for ice cream or is it because I agreed to come with him…?_

“Come on, let’s go!” Kazunari turns on his heel, close to literally jumping for joy as he leads the way—the wrong way, actually. They’re walking in the opposite direction of where he parked.

“My car is the other way, Kazunari!” he calls after him.

“It’s really close, just a few blocks!”

_And the car is even closer, just around the corner… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he just wanted to… spend more time together…_

 

This is a date.

 

This is definitely, _undeniably_ a date.

 

_God, I hope it’s going well._

 

On the short walk over, Kazunari lets out little outbursts every now and then about how ‘pumped’ he is or how the more he thinks about it, the more he _knows_ Shintarou’s going to like the shop. And he must admit, Kazunari truly has a knack for getting others excited—the longer they walk for, the more impatient Shintarou’s becoming to see the place for himself. When he tries to ask why he’s so certain or for any details at all, Kazunari just glances at him with a hint of his mischievous smirk and says,

“No spoilers.”

“Your refusal to give me concrete answers makes me think that you know I won’t like it.”

“Oh, please,” Kazunari chimes. “If you really felt that way, you wouldn’t be coming along at all.”

Shintarou doesn’t answer that but does wonder when it is that Kazunari got to know him so well. They really only barely know each other, don’t they? And now that he thinks about it—wait.

 

They don’t even know each other’s full names.

 

Insecurity and doubt starts to creep into him at that realization. Their only history with one another is that they’ve had drinks and sex a few times. He doesn’t have to imagine that Kazunari is popular because he’s seen the way he talks with other people—something about him is magnetic, he’s experienced that for himself. He is definitely more experienced than Shintarou is in terms of sex, probably love and relationships, as well. And while his manner of speech is very casual and he does end up correcting the way he’s phrased something on occasion, he speaks very deliberately. His evasion of talking about himself isn’t unintentional. It makes some sense that Shintarou wouldn’t realize they don’t know each other’s names until now—as swept up in Kazunari’s seduction as he has been and as content as he’s been to warrant the attention of someone so attractive despite his own inexperience and awkwardness. But for someone like Kazunari?

It must be deliberate.

 

There’s a light brush against Shintarou’s left hand, right along his knuckles.

 

Surprised, he looks down to see Kazunari’s hand close to his own—much closer than it had been just a minute ago. Then he realizes that’s because Kazunari’s been walking much closer to his side than he had before. It… it could be because the further they walk into downtown, the more crowded the street becomes. That’s probably what it is.

 

Or at least he thinks so until he feels that light brush of skin against his fingers a second time.

 

This time he looks at Kazunari’s face. He’s only looking at him from the side but he must have seen Shintarou look at their hands first. When their eyes meet, Kazunari blushes a bright red and looks straight ahead.

 

Then clasps Shintarou’s hand in his.

 

And pushes his fingers in between Shintarou’s.

 

Warmth shoots up from his hand all the way through his arm to his chest, where his heart beats wildly, and up through his neck until it’s settled firmly on his face in the form of a deep, red hue overtaking his cheeks. Shintarou wishes he had a scarf that he could use to cover at least _some_ of this humiliating blush. A ridiculously strong reaction to someone simply _holding his damn hand_. Possibly out of shock, Shintarou is still staring at Kazunari but it seems like he’s doing his best _not_ to look back at him.

Well, at least he’s relieved to know he’s not the only one embarrassed at the moment. Though his face does flush even harder when his eyes lock onto the sight of his left hand entwined with Kazunari’s right (his ego is taking _serious_ blows with how much blushing he’s been doing tonight).

The rest of the walk takes place in relative silence, both of them opting to observe their surroundings instead of speak. The only thing that deviates from this is one instant when Shintarou thinks he feels Kazunari looking at him, but before he can check, the feeling is gone—and Kazunari squeezes his hand, locking their fingers even more firmly into place. He can barely remember what he was thinking about prior to Kazunari holding his hand.

 

He just has a vague feeling that it doesn’t matter as much anymore.

 

✦

 

The ice cream parlor is a lot less busy than the pizza place was, probably at least partly due to it being winter. Kazunari beams as they enter the store—still holding hands, for the record. The parlor is much larger than Shintarou had expected with plenty of tables and seating, including several booths, and the entire side with the cashier’s desk is occupied by glass-domed freezers. For such a long series of freezers, it’s pretty surprising to see only two people working behind them. And it’s as cold as could be expected.

“ _Yes_ , just as empty as I hoped!” Kazunari finally lets go as he approaches the freezers to ogle the ice cream flavors on display. Shintarou can’t help but feel disappointed, but he approaches the freezers, too. “During the spring and summer, this place is packed pretty much every night.”

“What time do they close? This is unusually late for an ice cream shop…”

“1 am in the winter, 2 am in the spring, and 4 am in the summer, on weekends anyway,” Kazunari answers. His eyes scan over the contents of the freezers and he seems deep in thought over what flavor to choose.

“That hardly seems like sound business practice,” he mumbles back. Sure, people like ice cream, but surely no one wants it when it’s nearly morning? Shintarou manages to finally tear his gaze away from Kazunari’s face in order to observe the flavors on offer, but that’s when Kazunari’s concentration breaks.

“Oh! Ok, wait, let’s start over here.” He grabs Shintarou’s hand again for the briefest of moments and drags him to the opposite end of the store, where the last freezer is before the cashier’s desk starts. “Over here there’s the really indulgent, ultra-decadent stuff like triple chocolate fudge—oh, looks like it’s been replaced by quadruple chocolate fudge, wow. There’s also cookie and candy bar stuff—basically all of the crazy chocolate flavors are over here.”

“I see this one has marshmallow and peanut butter,” Shintarou comments in horror. Truly, he’s never seen such an appalling array of flavors in his life. “And you thought I would like this place because…?”

“Hold on, I’m getting to it!” Kazunari laughs and moves a few freezers down. “These are the classics and whatnot. So there’s vanilla, French vanilla, strawberry, mint-chocolate, pistachio—you know.” Kazunari begins moving on, apparently already bored with this section. “And I know I said it before, but you basically can’t go wrong with any of the choices here, they’re all really good. This last section is all sorbets.”

“You skipped those—”

“I’m saving the best for last, Midorima! Just trust me! But yeah, if you like ice cream without the cream, I guess, this is your section. Or I guess if you’re lactose intolerant… Anyway, okay, this is the best part—well, it’s not my favorite but it’s the whole reason I brought you here—” He backtracks to the section he’d skipped, after the sorbets and before the classics—and it seems to be the second largest collection after the unreasonable chocolate monstrosities. “All of these are their gourmet flavors.”

Shintarou raises an eyebrow at first because it seems that Kazunari has assumed he would like something just because it’s categorized as ‘gourmet’… but once he starts reading over the cards beneath each container—peaches and cream, lychee lavender, mango mandarin… most of the flavors feature unconventional combinations of fruits and despite his earlier skepticism, Shintarou does find himself intrigued. He keeps his face straight as he feels Kazunari’s eyes bore into him, observing him observe things.

Shintarou nods. “These look tempting.”

Kazunari pumps his fist and whispers ‘ _yes!’_

Several minutes of deliberation later, the two of them are sitting in a booth together, digging into their respective treats—Kazunari’s managed to surprise Shintarou with the comparatively conventional choice of cookies and cream as opposed to one of the crazier options he’d sort of expected him to go with. He himself chose peppermint—and is genuinely delighted with how tasty it is.

“What are you thinking about this time?” Kazunari asks, small spoon still held in his mouth. Shintarou faintly considers how poor his manners are to speak like that but also finds it kind of… goddamn it, it’s pretty cute.

“Nothing,” he says, though that, of course, isn’t true.

“Really…?” he asks, this time in a sing-song voice. Shintarou relents.

“I was just thinking that my younger sister would probably like this place, too.”

Kazunari’s eyes widen, either in interest or surprise. “You have a little sister?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too!” he exclaims, smiling widely. “I kind of took you as the only child type, but being a big brother suits you, too.”

Pleased to have finally gotten some personal information out of him, Shintarou finally sees an opening.

“Do you only have the one sibling?”

Kazunari nods. “Yeah. It’s just me, little sis, and my mom and dad. Though I’ve got a couple cousins I think of as brothers… and my parents are really close to their friends, so I kind of grew up with a few obligatory siblings.” The words he chose are a little cold, Shintarou notices, but Kazunari takes another spoonful and smiles to himself as he says it. Clearly, he’s fond of them even if they are ‘obligatory.’ That does seem to be all he wants to say on the matter and since Shintarou didn’t necessarily delve into his family at all, it might be a bit impolite to ask for more details. But still, since he’s gotten him to talk about himself a little, maybe he just needs to push a bit more…

“How old is she? Your sister.”

“She’ll be turning…” Kazunari pauses and blanches a little, spoon hanging loosely from his mouth. “Oh god, she’s turning twenty this year.”

“Are you suddenly feeling old?” he asks, his amusement at Kazunari’s reaction apparent.

“Ugh, don’t even _say_ that word, Midorima—it seriously feels like I was _just_ teaching her how to ride a bike.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Shintarou muses, thinking about his own sister and how he’d been totally unwilling to accept her last birthday. “My sister just turned twenty.” Then, he takes a slight breath in preparation—Kazunari is _really_ opening up right now. “I don’t think I know how old you are, by the way.”

“Really?” Kazunari cocks his head to the side in thought before speaking again. “And how old are _you?_ ”

_Oh no you don’t._

“I believe I asked you first,” he replies with ease, taking another spoonful of peppermint ice cream. Kazunari smirks a little, amused.

“Fine, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “I seriously hate talking about my age, though.”

“Why? Surely you don’t actually believe that you’re old?”

“Well, I just turned twenty-five not too long ago so I’m definitely getting up there…” he mumbles.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Shintarou’s brow furrows intensely and he has trouble swallowing his ice cream.

“Did you say you are twenty-five?”

Kazunari winces before shoving more ice cream in his mouth. “I know.”

Shintarou is left reeling by this. He had never anticipated that Kazunari might be _older_ than him.

“I… I seriously cannot believe I’m two years younger than you.”

He chuckles then. “What, am I that immature?”

“N-no! No, it’s just…” Just what? He isn’t even sure anymore. “I just… you seem younger than that. That’s all.”

Laughing again, Kazunari says, “Well, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult so I’ll just say thanks.” Then his smile fades and he lets out a groan, raising his hands in exasperation. The gesture is so sudden it actually startles Shintarou a bit. “Oh god, you’re two years younger than me _and_ you have a Master’s and are this super smart scientist!? I was kind of joking before but you really _are_ completely out of my league!”

Shintarou flushes the tiniest bit and keeps his eyes firmly fixed on his nearly finished cup of ice cream.

“You can’t really believe that.”

“What do you mean? Of course I do! I’m just some college dropout who barely knows if I even like my job and you’re—”

“An anatomist walking blindly into a genetics job,” he finishes, a wry, but small smile gracing his lips. He looks back up at Kazunari who seems a little surprised. “Let me assure you—if anything, it is definitely you that is out of my league.” Kazunari’s clearly about to insist otherwise so Shintarou doesn’t give him the chance. “I have noticed that you don’t like to talk about yourself, but I’m sure that description hardly does you justice.”

He _was_ trying to compliment him that time and at first he’s nervous it didn’t work since Kazunari just blinks at him. But then he laughs once and looks away, resting his face in one hand to try to hide the slightest hint of red forming there.

 

✦

 

They leave the ice cream shop, still chatting, at exactly one in the morning, the doors locking behind them. Shintarou can tell this impromptu, late-night date is coming to its conclusion. Even though it isn’t quite over yet, as they still have at least a ten minute walk back to the car, he still finds himself evaluating it and… it went well, all things considered. Actually, it may have been _great_ —the only thing that keeps him from deciding that is that he can’t be totally sure Kazunari feels the same way.

Still, they _are_ holding hands again and Kazunari’s noticeably closer to his side than he was the first time they did so. So maybe that’s an indication that this date _has_ been great?

In truth, Shintarou’s still surprised that he’s managed to learn so much more about Kazunari in the last few hours than he has over the entire course of their getting to know one another. Sure, it’s still very little but—then he remembers there’s something _very_ basic that he _still_ doesn’t know.

“Kazunari?”

“Hm?”

There’s been a lull in the conversation for a little while now and it makes for the perfect opportunity to finally ask him. Though he _will_ try to write it off as something that’s only bothering him a little as opposed to a burning question he needs the answer to. Surely, Kazunari wouldn’t refrain from telling him his full name, right? It’s clear he values his privacy, even more so than Shintarou himself (which is something he had yet to encounter before meeting the smaller man). Maybe he wouldn’t have told him before, but he definitely will now, right? After tonight? Right?

“I was thinking earlier,” he begins.

“Big surprise there,” Kazunari snickers.

Choosing to ignore that, Shintarou goes on. “It’s a bit ridiculous but I’ve only just realized that I don’t know your—“

“ _Well,_ aren’t you just the cutest couple!” Shintarou and Kazunari both jump in surprise at the abrupt appearance of a man blocking their path—apparently one of the street artists offering caricatures to passersby frivolous enough to want such a thing. “How about a handsome portrait to commemorate the big date??” Bitter anger swells in Shintarou at this man’s materialization. His timing could not _possibly_ be more annoying.

And then something completely awful happens. Kazunari lets go of his hand.

“Oh, no, we’re not a couple,” he says, waving his hand in front of him.

Whether that dismissive gesture is meant for the caricaturist and his inevitable sales pitch or meant for the idea of the two of them as a couple is something Shintarou can’t bear to think about.

“Ah, well there’s no need to be a couple! Portraits are for everyone!”

“We’re not interested,” Shintarou growls.

“It’s _very_ quick and _very_ cheap!”

“No,” Kazunari insists with a polite smile, though his tone is far kinder than this pushy swindler deserves. “I really don’t think—”

“You can even pay after—I guarantee you’ll want to take it home!”

“We’ve already said no—” Shintarou tries.

“Only takes five minutes!”

Shintarou turns to look at his date, exasperated and hoping Kazunari can come up with an effective way of getting this buffoon to leave them alone. Instead of annoyance, however, what he finds on his face is… oh god, no…

“You can’t be serious.”

Kazunari starts at that and looks back up at him, apparently surprised to have been caught. But really, how could Shintarou have missed that torn look of deliberation? And really, _why_ on _earth_ does Kazunari want a _street caricature?_

“You realize these are for tourists. And children.”

“I-I know that!” Kazunari stammers. Then he lowers his voice to keep the artist’s eavesdropping to a minimum. “But he’s being really pushy about it so maybe he needs the money?”

Shintarou pauses at that. He hates being approached by strangers on the street—always has and always will—so his impression of the entire lot of street performers who are prone to doing this had always been negative. Extremely so, to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from openly scowling at the sight of one. It isn’t as if he’d forgotten they were _people_ but… truly, he’d never considered that their aggressive sales tactics might somehow stem from necessity as opposed to greed and an appalling lack of social boundaries.

“I… I suppose that’s possible.”

“And I’ve kind of always wanted to get a caricature done.”

_I knew it._

Shintarou glances back at the street artist who is beaming now, clearly observant of when he’s managed to sucker someone into paying for his art. Part of him is supremely annoyed and wary at the idea of being victim to a complete stranger’s artistic license but another far less logical and considerably more sentimental part of him is a) pleased that he’s successfully discerned something Kazunari wants before he explicitly relayed it to him, and b) eager to make Kazunari happy.

“You said five minutes, right?” he gruffly asks the street artist.

“More or less!” the short, gangly man replies, not even slightly deterred by the hostility in Shintarou’s voice.

Shintarou sighs, defeated.

“Fine.”

“R-Really?” Kazunari pipes up at his side. His face looks a little concerned but the excitement in his voice is evident. “Are you sure?? We don’t have to. I can tell this isn’t—”

Shintarou’s about to assure him that he’s certain but the artist is suddenly at their backs, pushing them from the center of the thoroughfare to the side where there lies an easel, a transportable table hosting a series of art supplies, and a small bench, presumably for the subjects to sit on.

“Excellent, excellent! Have a seat boys, get comfortable!”

 

…..

….

…

..

.

It most certainly does not take five minutes. And Shintarou is running out of patience.

First of all, the bench is too small. For one person, it would be fine, and he guesses for most couples it would be just enough space, but for someone of his size and stature, it really is too snug with Kazunari sitting next to him. Of course, there are far worse fates in this world than having to sit extra close to a man that he is attracted to (and has feelings for, he really must admit to that at this point), but they’ve been sitting like this for close to ten minutes now and the seating arrangement has since taken a turn from surprisingly pleasant to genuinely uncomfortable.

Second of all, people are _stopping to watch_. Sometimes they just spectate for a short while, possibly trying to decide whether they wanted to be the next saps to pay for this experience. Other times, they stop, stare at the portrait in progress, and laugh. _Laugh._ Sometimes they don’t even stop to do that; they just literally point at whatever atrocity this alleged artist is cooking up for them and giggle to themselves as they walk away. To make matters even more annoying, when it first started happening and people would ask the artist—who has simply introduced himself as K-kun—about his rates or how late he is going to be here, he would sometimes have the gall to strike up a _conversation with them_ in an obvious attempt at charming them into coming back for a portrait. And while this _K-kun_ has proven to be immune to Shintarou’s death glare, luckily _Kazunari_ was the one to speak up then, pleasantly stating that they have an early morning, if he didn’t mind. He has a feeling that Kazunari definitely doesn’t but he appreciates the white lie because he can tell it was actually for his sake.

And finally, third of all, his anxiety is skyrocketing. Between how much longer this is taking than it was supposed to and the reactions from the random onlookers, he has a terrible feeling that this portrait is going to be awful. Not just awful, actually. Humiliating.

 

“You okay?”

 

Shintarou looks down to see Kazunari looking back up at him, just a hint of worry on his features. In truth, he isn’t _really_ okay but the last thing he wants to do is make Kazunari feel guilty for having them sit for this—he’s already committed to it so it would be terribly shameful behavior to pull out now.

“I’m fine,” he replies and he does kind of mean it. Throughout this entire ordeal, Kazunari has been talking to him, prattling on and on in what he’s now realizing was probably an attempt to soothe his nerves. It had worked, too, because Shintarou had been learning all sorts of things about him in the process and that largely distracted him from how much more annoyed and embarrassed he might have been otherwise. He’d learned what Kazunari’s favorite movie genre is; that he has a love-hate relationship with his boss at the design firm; that he’s a photographer on the side; that he normally presses the snooze button four to six times every morning; that he is considering getting his ears pierced; that he and his friend are currently trying to stream a show at the same time but keep getting too impatient to wait for the other to catch up and end up spoiling things for one another all the time. Kazunari had gone from being tight-lipped about even the smallest of details to suddenly gushing all of this personal information over the course of one night and the transition makes so little sense that he starts to wonder if Kazunari thinks he’s just going to forget it all. He won’t, though.

He will definitely remember all of it.

Kazunari smiles at him like he’s grateful for something and starts to speak when, once again, the street artist interrupts with his apparent complete lack of social grace.

“Alright, fellas, we’re all done!”

Kazunari breaks out into an even wider smile and Shintarou stands as soon as those words leave the man’s lips and lets out a soft groan at the relief he feels on his hips—it had only been a little tight on the side against Kazunari but the other side had been mashed against the hard, unforgiving wood of the bench’s armrest.

The caricaturist hands the finished portrait over to Kazunari. “What do ya think?”

 

“Oh my god,” Kazunari says, gasping softly. “Oh. _My. GOD!_ ”

 

Shintarou has heard Kazunari laugh before. He’s heard him giggle and snicker and even hold back a few stronger laughs with several variations on the rather inarticulate ‘ _Pffft’_ sound he’s prone to making. But this. _This._

This laughter… this _cackling¸_ this cacophony of hoots and hollers and chortles is _something else entirely._ It’s utterly alarming in that it is just as loud as it is sudden and Shintarou dreads laying eyes on what could possibly elicit this sort of response.

“ _Bahahahahahaa, oh my god! Oh my god!! This is amazing!! Midorima, you HAVE to come look at this, it’s fucking hilarious!!_ ” Kazunari is nearly doubled over in laughter and more than a few people are staring. Actually, some people are _approaching_ now, apparently intrigued and sold on this caricaturist’s work by Kazunari’s reaction. He practically shoves the portrait into Shintarou’s hands, still laughing hard and pretending to—no, _actually_ wiping a tear from his eye. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Take my money! _Please_ , take all of my money—this was worth _every second!_ ”

K-kun and Kazunari start conversing jovially after that but Shintarou isn’t listening. He isn’t listening because all of his attention is focused in on the crisp 11x17 in his hands.

And it’s a fucking travesty.

Surely Kazunari can’t be serious about giving away the entire contents of his wallet for _this._

It isn’t vanity that compels him to look at his own part of the portrait first, it’s that it is undeniably the first thing anyone’s eyes would be drawn to. His initial fears about the artist taking artistic liberties with his image are immediately confirmed. Shintarou is featured to the left of Kazunari, his body much, much taller than the latter and his neck _so_ long he resembles more a giraffe than a man. To top things off, his Adam’s apple is especially pronounced and the top of his head isn’t even in the portrait at all—his image starts about mid-way through the bangs, the rest of his head undrawn, presumably beginning somewhere off the actual edge of the paper. His glasses are drawn in a way that completely obscures his eyes, the artist having opted for gleaming lenses instead of properly drawing the green orbs behind them. The rest of his features, including his clothes, aren’t particularly noteworthy but then again, they really don’t need to be with how outrageous the rest of it is. And then his eyes are drawn to the right side of the portrait and he’s even more assured of its categorization as a disgrace. Kazunari is drawn _tiny_ in comparison to the humanoid creature to his left, furthering the already utterly absurd exaggeration of their height difference. Assuming that Shintarou’s caricature is looking straight ahead behind the steely lenses on his face, Kazunari’s caricature is instead looking elsewhere… gazing up at a sharp angle at Shintarou’s face. And ‘gazing’ really is the only word to describe the ludicrous pose he’s in—his hands are clasped tightly together in front of his chest, there’s a small, probably meant to be bashful, smile on his face, and, most unacceptably, Kazunari’s eyes are wide and starry with long, overstated eyelashes like you might find on a cartoon version of a deer, all of it lending to what is obviously supposed to be the image of a love-struck fool. And just in case that isn’t enough to make it clear, there’s also a bright red blush drawn across Kazunari’s face and a series of bright, vividly colored pink and red hearts wafting from Kazunari’s persona—the only pops of color in the entire portrait.

Shintarou blanches. His lips purse and he fucking blanches.

“So? What do you think, Midorima??” Kazunari asks, chuckles only barely beginning to subside.

Shintarou doesn’t answer right away because his brain is still processing this ridiculous, _ridiculous_ thing he is holding. But when he does, it’s with a deadpan tone that he hopes gets across how serious he is.

Quietly, he states, “I think it’s an abomination.”

For some reason, that just starts the cackling anew.

 

✦

 

Kazunari only stops laughing entirely once they’ve reached the car. The rest of their walk back had been punctuated with Kazunari’s giggles and one brief return to full-on, ‘ow my sides hurts’ laughter. Part of the reason he couldn’t stop laughing was that he’d kept on staring at the portrait, holding it in both hands like it was some sort of precious jewel instead of an ugly street caricature, and he’d kept finding new things to laugh about the longer he did. Shintarou would have been more annoyed by this if it hadn’t been for the fact that Kazunari had looped his left arm through the crook of Shintarou’s right before he’d held the portrait in his hands like that. They’d been effectively locked at the arm and Kazunari had had to walk very close to him as a consequence of that, close enough that Shintarou couldn’t even feel the late night cold anymore. Now that they’re at the car again, they have to separate and Shintarou hates that, _really_ hates it, but he has no choice.

They get in and as Shintarou presses the button to start the car, Kazunari comments on the portrait for the _millionth_ time.

“ _Seriously_ , this is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much.”

“Oh come _on_ , it’s _funny!_ Have you seen how long your neck is?” He snickers as he asks that question for the hundredth time, knowing it makes Shintarou either roll his eyes or frown when he does.

“Please believe me when I say I hate that thing.”

“Haha, I’ll just keep it then. You’d just throw it away, wouldn’t you?”

“I absolutely would. And I’d like to take back what I said earlier.”

“Hm? Take back what?”

“You _are_ immature.”

Kazunari giggles to himself some more and when Shintarou glances at him before beginning to pull out of the parking space, he sees that his date is lightly holding the paper to his chest and smiling to himself, small and shy almost like in that god awful portrait. The sight makes his heart race and he suddenly forgets what he was doing—and of course, in that moment, Kazunari turns and catches him staring.

His smile grows much wider, making his eyes light up. “What?” It’s a simple question but the way he’s said it is layered with multiple meanings, the tone of his voice is so sweet.

Shintarou just turns red and whips his head away, focusing on maneuvering his car out. “P-put your seatbelt on.”

He hears a soft chuckle followed by a metallic click, and finally begins to drive. Kazunari sighs, loud and long.

“This was _really_ fun.”

Shintarou feels himself getting even more flushed because he’s thinking the same thing, he’s thinking that this is the most fun he’s had in literal years, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Lucky for him, Kazunari seems to have learned how to read him and it doesn’t seem like he’s expecting him to say the same.

“Seriously. Thanks for this.”

“Th-there’s no need to t..to thank me,” he stutters, utterly embarrassed by his inability to speak coherently after managing so well for so long. “I…”

_Come on._

_Come on, just say it!_

“I… I-I enjoyed myself, too.” He glances to the side in that moment and his heart soars when he sees the big, happy smile on Kazunari’s face. He finds the corner of his lip raising, too, the happiness pouring off of that simple expression is _that_ contagious. They drive along in silence for a while until Shintarou slows the car down, realizing that he doesn’t have instructions from Kazunari yet. “So,” he says, trying to regain his composure.

“Yeah,” Kazunari says. “You can just drop me off at the nearest metro station. I think there’s one a few minutes from here?”

Oh.

Oh…

“R-right… Right.” That’s what he says, as casually as he can muster, but it’s not at all what’s going through his mind.

“Ah!” Kazunari seems to get tense and his voice raises a bit. “You don’t have to! It’s close by so I can totally walk from here!”

“What?”

“You’ve already gone along with all the dumb stuff I wanted to do tonight, anyway, I don’t want to keep you out any later than I already have.”

Shintarou processes his words for a moment and then audibly scoffs. “As if you need to worry about that. You just said it was close by, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah…”

Shintarou takes a breath. “I already said I enjoyed myself, it’s not as if you’ve been d-dragging me along.” He’s trying to sound annoyed to cover up his embarrassment, but the admission he’s making is hampering the effect. “You’re already in the car, it would be pointless to make you walk there when I can drive you in a few minutes. Can you direct me from here?”

Kazunari leans forward in his seat a bit, probably looking for a street sign.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, I can show you from here.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Kazunari had definitely lied about the station being close enough to walk to, Shintarou realizes as he marks the fifth minute they’ve been chatting on their way to the station. When he raises an eyebrow and brings it up, Kazunari smiles bashfully and says he was worried about imposing. _Kazunari_ was worried about imposing as if he hadn’t bought Shintarou drinks and whispered seductive things to Shintarou and made himself at home in his bed, riding his—

 

Whoa.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

That train of thought seriously got away from him.

 

The longer they drive for, actually, the more he finds himself thinking about the… less than wholesome things they’ve gotten up to before. At first it’s wandering thoughts spurred on by the way the streetlights and neon signs of the city highlight Kazunari’s fine features. Then it’s the way Kazunari murmurs that it’s hot before unzipping his coat, re-revealing the V-neck t-shirt he’s wearing underneath and the enchanting, sharp outlines of his clavicle and the hollow of his neck. (He considers turning the heat down a notch or two but the same part of his brain responsible for these stray thoughts tells him to leave it on and see if he takes anything else off.) And then, all of a sudden, Kazunari’s unbuckling his seatbelt as they approach the station. The ride is over.

…He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped—no, hoped isn’t the right word. _Expected_. Shintarou would be lying if he said he hadn’t _expected_ that this date would end at his flat. It’s not as if he had participated in this date _solely_ for that reason—he had gone to eat pizza, and then ice cream, and hold hands, and get a dumb caricature drawn, and learn things, and share things with this man that he finds himself drawn to. But yes, since nearly all of their other encounters had ended with Kazunari— _very_ explicitly—coaxing Shintarou into taking him home, he’d just come to expect it. And, of course, look forward to it. But this is nice, too.

Well… it’s nice, but it’s ending too soon.

The car is stopped now and it’s his last chance to prolong this.

“Kazunari?”

“Hm?”

“I can take you home, if you’d like.”

Kazunari stares at him, then blinks. Then he blinks again. Then he _smirks._

“Oh?” he asks and the tone of his voice is _unmistakably_ teasing.

“N-no. No!” Even though he’d _just_ been thinking it, that was absolutely _not_ what he’d meant. “I-I mean, n-not that I _wouldn’t_ —”

“Oho?”

“No—Kazunari, stop it.” Kazunari laughs, he freaking _laughs_ at him. If it were anyone else, he’d be furious but since it’s Kazunari, he just sighs in frustration and tries to start over. “What I mean is I can _drive_ you home. You don’t have to take public transportation. It’s late and—and… I don’t have to go home. Yet.”

Kazunari smiles sweetly at him, then looks off to the side, pensive for a moment. After about thirty seconds of surprisingly silent contemplation, Kazunari delivers his verdict.

“No, it’s fine.” Before Shintarou can protest, he says, “I appreciate the offer, but it’s alright.”

“I… I think I insist.”

Kazunari sniggers at that, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You ‘think’ you insist?”

“Yes.”

Kazunari gives Shintarou a wry smirk then, a strange contrast to the warm look in his eyes. And then he leans over the center console and kisses him. It’s meant to be a goodbye kiss, that much is obvious, but it lingers for maybe a second longer than it should. Shintarou thinks that’s probably all in his mind, since it’s not like he has a wealth of goodbye kisses to compare this to, but after Kazunari pulls away, presumably to actually say the word ‘goodbye’, he pauses, their faces still incredibly close. Then instead of pulling away further, he leans in again, kissing Shintarou for a second time. This kiss is even longer than the last and this time Shintarou is certain that Kazunari lingers. He pulls away from him again, their lips separating with the softest _smack_ , and Kazunari pauses again. Shintarou gazes into those silver eyes undeterred, determined to understand what he’s thinking, certain that this moment is on the precipice of turning into another moment, maybe several more. Kazunari’s lips part and he takes a short breath, like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t speak. His piercing eyes bore into Shintarou’s, steady but searching, almost as if they’re trying to communicate something his mouth will not.

Shintarou closes the distance this time. And while he would normally worry at least a little that he’s made the wrong move, that he’s misinterpreting the longing look in Kazunari’s eyes, Kazunari doesn’t give him the chance to do any thinking whatsoever. When Shintarou’s lips press against Kazunari’s, the raven-haired man closes his eyes immediately and lets out a very soft, almost inaudible moan. They continue like this with these long, if rather innocent kisses and Shintarou feels like his brain is short-circuiting. This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, of course, and it isn’t even the first time they’ve kissed _tonight._ And yet the way Kazunari’s lips feel against his own is amazing every time, it takes his breath away _every time._ Amazing as it is, though, all of the stray thoughts from just a few minutes earlier return and their effect on Shintarou is only magnified by the series of soft, breathy moans Kazunari keeps making.

_Damn._

Shintarou slips his tongue out between kisses and presses it against Kazunari’s mouth without thinking and is thrilled when Kazunari opens up for him with another moan, this one loud and sultry enough to give Shintarou goosebumps. He reaches a hand to caress Kazunari’s neck, hoping it isn’t trembling too badly but expecting that it probably is. When his fingertips make contact with the hair at the nape of his neck, Kazunari’s eyes drift open just a fraction and he pulls back for a moment to murmur, “Midorima…”

Three things happen then. The first is that his name being said to him in Kazunari’s voice, all low and undeniably sexual like that, goes straight to his groin. The second is that he remembers, _now_ of all goddamn times, that he still hasn’t managed to get Kazunari’s surname and that, in turn, Kazunari still only knows _his_ surname—how much hotter would that have been if he’d murmured ‘Shintarou’ instead? And then the third thing happens and it’s so impossibly fast and implausible that it makes him completely forget about the nagging issue of their names.

Kazunari grabs the front of Shintarou’s coat in a fist, pulling him into another kiss, this one harder and distinctly reminiscent of the kisses they’d shared in Shintarou’s bed. Then, in a swift maneuver Shintarou is certain he will never, _ever_ _forget_ Kazunari pounces—adjusting his kisses down to Shintarou’s neck as he hurtles himself over the center console, seats himself firmly in Shintarou’s lap, reaches down and finds the seat adjustment knob _on the first try_ , then finally shifts his body weight, simultaneously grinding his ass against Shintarou’s dick _and_ pushing on the back of the seat using his free hand, with enough force to shove the driver’s seat down, plummeting as far back as possible.

Stunned and temporarily out of breath, Shintarou begins to say, “ _H-How did you do tha—_ ” but Kazunari quickly silences him with a hungry, open-mouthed kiss that wastes no time in reintroducing tongues to their liplocking. Although he cannot begin to fathom how Kazunari was able to pull this position off as smoothly as he did, Shintarou already finds himself grateful for it because the kissing is only getting hotter and more intense and he is more than happy to have access to hold onto and squeeze Kazunari’s shapely behind. Kazunari groans openly and roughly tugs his coat off, throwing it into the empty passenger’s seat and bending back into Shintarou’s grip.

Good _god._

The making out continues for, god, how long? Minutes? Hours? However long it takes for Shintarou to start feeling faint—the combination of the heavy kissing, their climbing body temperatures, the steady stream of hot air from the car’s A/C, and Kazunari’s remarkably infrequent need to breathe is now suffocating in this enclosed space. And while this heat is responsible for the incredible sight of rivulets of sweat pouring down Kazunari’s neck and tracing his collarbone before either disappearing into his shirt or staining the neckline and also responsible for the scent of Kazunari’s body going from faint to intoxicating, it _must_ end. While this is likely the best position they could hope for in Shintarou’s relatively small vehicle and was perfectly fine in the beginning, it’s now become unsustainable and uncomfortable—his long legs are cramped and each time his hips involuntarily buck into Kazunari, the shorter man bumps his head against the roof. He pulls back, regrettably, and his lips tingle.

“Kazunari…”

“Huh?” he mumbles back, voice faint, before dipping into Shintarou’s neck and beginning to kiss him there instead. Shintarou shuts his eyes and tries to pry his hands away from where they seem permanently fixed—one caressing Kazunari’s back under his shirt and the other firmly holding onto one of his cheeks.

“We… we ought to stop.”

“Hm?” he hums it and it sounds less like a question and more like another of his soft moans. “Why?”

“It—It’s getting hard to breathe in here.”

Kazunari rapidly pulls away from Shintarou’s neck, bolting upright so quickly that he _slams_ the back of his head into the roof this time. Shintarou’s eyes widen in panic. That sounded _hard._

“ _Shit._ ”

“Are you alright?!” Shintarou sits up a bit himself but immediately feels dizzy. It must show on his face because the next thing Kazunari does is reach over the door handle and push the button to open the window.

Oh. _God._ Dear, sweet, _crisp, fresh air._

“Th-thank you, but are you alright?” he asks after a couple of deep, gulping breaths set his mind right again. “That looked like it hurt.”

Kazunari rubs at the spot he’d hit some more but scoffs lightly. “It sounded worse than it was.” Then laughing he adds, “My pride’s wounded more than anything, don’t worry.”

Shintarou takes a moment to assess his face to see if he’s trying to play it off but he really doesn’t seem to be in any pain. He frowns. “Still, head injuries are dangerous. Why don’t you sit back down?”

Kazunari smirks down at him slyly. “I’ve already got a perfectly comfy seat right here, though.” He illustrates exactly what he means by grinding his hips down, massaging the sensitive bulge in Shintarou’s slacks with the suppressed, but just as hard bulge in his jeans. They both groan but the sound is different, doesn’t occupy Shintarou’s ears as fully as it once did and that’s when he remembers the window is open and—holy shit. They’re slowly clearing up now but a quick survey of his car reveals to him that _all_ of the windows had been _completely_ fogged up. He wants to kick himself for just having noticed this since it should have been evident that would happen—he had taken his glasses off ages ago as they were the first thing to get fogged up (more accurately, Kazunari had laughed and taken them off for him). But the _real_ self-loathing begins when he remembers where they are.

In his car, _on the street_ , stopped outside of a metro station with the lights on.

They’re in a dark area of sorts since he’d stopped the car a little before the main entrance and the streetlamp is apparently out of order but as he squints at the largely misty passenger’s side window he can see vague movement.

“Are there people out there?”

Without even glancing to check, Kazunari says, “Yeah.”

The color drains from his face and Shintarou asks, “Can they see what we’re doing?”

“Mm, I don’t think so. But they can definitely see the windows are all foggy,” he adds, smiling devilishly.

Shintarou sinks back down onto his reclined seat and covers his eyes with one hand, trying _not_ to freak out. Kazunari leans down with him, resting his arms on Shintarou’s chest and then resting his head on his arms. The added weight makes his racing heart feel like it’s beating even harder in his chest. He’s certain Kazunari can feel it, too.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, sounding completely _un_ perturbed by the fact that they’d been making out and dry humping in a public space for a _long_ time—probably forty minutes or something.

 _Oh god, and there were times when the car was **moving** , _he realizes, sinking even further into despair and taking a deep breath before shaking his head in shame and sighing.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Kazunari lets out an amused sigh at his answer. “You wanna know what I’m thinking?”

“What?” Shintarou asks, not paying a ton of attention, finally focusing on actually catching his breath again.

“I was thinking about maybe going to your place.”

... _That_ does catch his attention. He lowers his hand from his face.

“You were?”

“Yeah.” Kazunari leans in some more, just enough to reach Shintarou’s jawbone and kiss it. “Did you still want to?” he asks, voice almost a whisper.

Of course he still wants to.

_Of course._

“If you want t—wait, can people see us from _this_ window?”

Kazunari sits up again. “Um… yep.”

“ _What!?_ ” Shintarou shoots up to a proper sitting position and, sure enough, he can make out the shapes of people passing by on the sidewalk across from them. And while he can’t see them at all, he can confirm that yes—if someone was _really_ looking, they could definitely tell that the guy with dark hair in the driver’s seat is straddling someone’s lap.

Kazunari softly giggles to himself.

“G-Get _off of me!!_ _Kazunari, we’re in PUBLIC,_ do you have _any decency whatsoever!??_ ”

Kazunari laughs fully this time and finally relents, retrieving Shintarou’s glasses from where he’d placed them on the dashboard before getting himself situated in his proper seat. “Oh, come _on_ , like you weren’t groping me all over and subtly trying to get me to take my shirt off!”

Shintarou is adjusting his seat back to its driving position when Kazunari says that and he’s grateful his back is turned to him because he goes _beet red_ at the comment.

“I-I-I was _not_ , I was—”

Kazunari snickers some more. “Let’s just go to your place and we can do all the filthy things your heart desires~”

Shintarou refuses to give him a reply and finally has his car in somewhat suitable order, minus the remaining blotches of mist on the glass here and there. It’s dissipated enough that he can drive and should be gone entirely if they just drive with the window down. Taking his glasses back and then adjusting them, he decides he probably needs to keep the window down. Maybe not just his either, maybe _all_ of them, because he has a feeling that if he takes even one glance at the look Kazunari’s giving him right now, he’ll heat up all over again. And then Kazunari will see it and somehow convince him to pull over, and then they’ll start kissing again—

And if _that_ happens, he won’t last two fucking seconds.

 

✧

 

_Fuck._

_He isn’t breathing._

 

Just as Kazunari’s heart is coming down from his post-feeding high, it begins racing again. He’s still on top of Midorima, still sweating, though now for a different reason entirely.

_Where is it… where is it…_

 

In some ways, he’s grown used to this. He knows that every time he sleeps with a human, there’s a chance they won’t ever wake up again.

_He’s done so well, I didn’t think he’d… come on, Midorima, where’s your **fucking** pulse_…

 

From his experience, it’s about a fifty percent chance.

_I’m stupid, I’m stupid, I’m so stupid—_

 

But he still panics every time it happens.

 

“Come on…” he whispers to himself, heart and mind racing and the very beginning of tears beginning to prickle at his eyes. Unable to bear looking at Midorima’s face for one more second while he’s like this, he bends over him, bringing his ear to the left side of his chest. He listens intently, closes his eyes and bites down on his lip until the sharp fang that has replaced his canine tooth draws blood. He doesn’t even feel it.

 

Normally, when this happens, when the human he’s had sex with is on the brink of death as opposed to having clearly died, he paces the room, eyes wild, hands mussing and pulling at his hair, thinking about how this could be number whatever, how he’s done it again, how he’s a murderer, how _he’s a murderer._ On rare occasions, the person comes back from that brink, taking in a large, loud breath and then wheezing for a while before seeming to settle into unconsciousness. He then gets the hell out of there and hopes for the best. He doesn’t know what happens to his prey after that. He doesn’t want to know.

There was a time when he was determined not to be so useless in these moments. He went and learned how to do CPR—hell, he even went and got certified in it, all in the hopes that when his feeding wipes out a human’s breathing faculties, he would be able to do _something_. Maybe he couldn’t save them, not all of them, but maybe he could save a few? Or somehow make it easier for them to come back, somehow pave a way for them to breathe again.

He learned quickly, brutally, that CPR doesn’t work for this. He has no idea _why_ it doesn’t work, everything he learned indicates that it _should_ , but he’s tried it enough times to know for certain that it does not. Maybe it’s because those CPR courses are taught by humans as a way to rescue humans from earthly maladies—they’re created by and for human beings existing in a world without demons, an existence sheltered from what they would classify as ‘magical’ or ‘supernatural.’ Cardiopulmonary resuscitation wasn’t developed to bring a person back from whatever the fuck it is about a Type 4 incubus’s feeding that obstructs a human’s ability to breathe.

 

As Kazunari presses his face hard against Midorima’s chest, a single tear sneaks out from his tightly shut eyes. There’s the softest of heartbeats going in his chest, but it’s faint, terribly faint. And Midorima still isn’t breathing.

_Stop it. There’s no point to that. Fucking **stop it.**_

 

He’d stopped crying when this happened after the first time. The first time it ever happened, the first time he killed someone was the first time he’d ever fed. He’d cried and cried for days, then weeks, and then months until eventually he realized that he had no right to cry. The petty, selfish tears of a killer, upset by the carnage he himself had wrought? It was disgusting.

So he never cried for any of them after that.

 

He never cries when his prey dies. He makes it a point not to.

 

If he did that every fucking time, he’d be an emotional wreck.

 

The tears don’t bring them back.

 

They’re human. They die if their life force runs out.

 

It’s not his fault he needs so much of it to live.

 

It’s either them or him.

 

If he really felt that bad about it, he’d starve to death—not cry.

 

But he doesn’t. He chooses to do this. He chooses to survive.

 

He knows there’s a chance of this every time he feeds. A high chance.

 

He knows.

 

He knows.

 

 

It’s been too long.

It’s been way too fucking long and Midorima still isn’t breathing.

 

 

Kazunari breaks.

 

 

He knew this might happen. He knew this might happen and he _did it anyway_ , he is a _disgusting person._ He isn’t fit to be in this beautiful person’s presence. He tries to hold back the tears but fresh images from their stupid night together—a night that had been perfect, _fucking perfect_ , until he’d decided to fuck it all up by pretending to be something he’s not—come flooding in and the tears come with them. He can’t stop thinking about all the ways Midorima tried to get him to open up and all of the new things he tried and all of the different ways he blushed and the way his palm was a little sweaty when they held hands and how kind and humble and nervous he secretly is underneath all of the grumpiness and sternness and prestige.

 

And now he’s crying so hard he can’t make himself stop.

 

He’s seen it so many times up until now. He’d stopped counting after fifty, it had become too much to bear, but he’s used to it. He’s _supposed_ to be used to it.

 

 

But with Midorima in this familiar position underneath him, unbreathing and pale, he feels ill. He feels positively sick to his stomach.

 

 

What he’s feeling right now is different from what he’s felt all the other times. This isn’t just sadness or distress or disappointment. This isn’t any one of those things or even all of those things put together.

This is grief.

Grief, regret, and self-loathing.

 

The sound of Midorima’s heartbeat is growing fainter still, sluggish and weak, and Kazunari buries his face in his chest and lets out an agonized sob, feeling absolutely crushed by his own helplessness and his own culpability.

 

_I just… I thought he’d be fine…_

 

Still nude, still straddling Midorima’s unmoving body, Kazunari sobs again and wraps his arms around Midorima’s torso. His fingers wriggle their way under the dead weight of his back, the sharp points of his transformed claws surely leaving marks, until he’s got him in the most secure hug he possibly can, and he tries to give it back. It’s a stupid, useless gesture, he knows it is. There’s no way of returning the energy he’s drained. He wouldn’t even know how to begin to do such a thing. So Kazunari just lays there, body shuddering with every cry, his skin pressed flush against Midorima’s skin, his ear poised over his failing heart, and his eyes screwed shut, continuing to wish he could give Midorima’s life force back to him. Without the chorus of erotic sounds breathing life and warmth into the room, it seems ice cold and unbearably silent now.

 

And Kazunari regrets. He regrets ever meeting this man, he regrets ever seducing him, and he regrets letting himself feel this way about him, allowing himself to grow so fond of him that he acted this irresponsibly and killed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then Midorima’s chest rises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kazunari’s eyes shoot open and he sits up.

 

 

 

 

 

Midorima’s chest drops.

 

 

 

 

 

Then rises again.

 

 

 

Kazunari takes in a massive breath before he covers his face with his hands and begins crying anew—crying out of relief.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he sobs shakily into his hands, shoulders shaking and heart pounding. “ _Th-thank, Satan…_ ”

 

That was very, _very_ close.

 

So close, he can’t even bear to think about it anymore.

 

After he gets the majority of the crying out of his system, he finally gets off of Midorima and stumbles out of the bedroom. Despite the whole apartment being steeped in darkness, he’s acquainted enough with the flat’s layout to find his way to the bathroom. He passes the mirror as he goes for the rack where Midorima keeps some hand towels, the towels he uses to clean up after themselves. Kazunari hesitates when he catches sight of his own orange irises reflected back at him, burning fiercely in the dark. He turns on the light and is disgusted by what he sees for more than a few reasons. Placing the hand towels down on the counter for a moment, Kazunari closes his eyes and focuses on retracting his fangs, dulling his claws back into somewhat cared for nails—he wills his glamour back.

It’s not that he’s disgusted by his demonic form, not really. Or by being a demon, for that matter. But being a Type 4, quite honestly, has ruined his life.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s regained his human appearance, including the non-glowing, normal slate-colored eyes he inherited from his mom. There’s a bit of blood stained along his bottom lip and chin so he turns the faucet on and wipes it away with some warm water. The cut there is pretty grisly to look at but whatever. He glances down at his fingernails, then his toes to make sure there isn’t a single trace of his demonic form left.

It isn’t that he’s disgusted by it, it really, _really_ isn’t. It’s as much a part of him as his human form, maybe even _more_ so.

But right now, after what that side of him almost did to Midorima tonight?

…He seriously can’t bear to look at himself.

 

He cleans Midorima off, actually using a damp towel instead of just haphazardly wiping cum off of him like he’s done before. Midorima’s body actually responds to the touch a little, his abdomen twitching slightly at the feeling of the wet cloth. Despite how upset he’s been and how shaken he still feels, Kazunari smiles at that. He’s just… so relieved.

He tells himself that he’s sleeping over to watch over Midorima and while that’s true, even if it is dumb—as far as he knows, no one has ever suddenly relapsed into peril after recovering from a Type 4 feeding—it’s also not the only reason. Kazunari really doesn’t want to be alone after what almost happened. He really doesn’t want to be anywhere else but snuggled up to Midorima.

 

Because this will definitely, _definitely_ be the last time.

 

✧

 

Kazunari wakes at six. The first thing he does is check on Midorima.

He’s slept longer than he’d meant to—because it really is pretty careless to stick around before dawn at a prey’s home—but he forgets all of that at the sight of Midorima. He’s clearly doing well… he’s not at all pale like he has been the other times he’s fed from him and his breathing is even. Kazunari gives him a kiss on the cheek, then taps his forehead against Midorima’s forehead and smiles to himself, trying to telepathically deliver the message that he’s happy he’s well and he’s proud of Midorima for being so strong.

Kazunari almost decides to get dressed and go straight home but just as he’s begun looking for his underwear, he decides to take a shower after all. Traumatic near-death experiences aside, he still has enough good nature left in him to recognize that this is definitely going to be his last opportunity to use this heavenly shower—and who fucking knows when he’ll next encounter another one like it.

 

He _really_ likes a good shower, okay?

 

Because it’s his last time, Kazunari can’t help but prolong the moment a little bit. And it’s not just the shower, either… it’s just, all of this. It’s why he slept over again last night, too—he’ll never step foot in this apartment again. Hot water jets over his scalp and down the rest of his body with the perfect amount of pressure and he sighs.

 _I’ll probably see him a few more times at the bar. Just gotta say hi and then flirt with someone else where he can see. I hate to hurt his feelings, but—_ Kazunari flinches, suddenly able to clearly envision the hurt, confused look on Midorima’s face from across the bar at Cheeky. Fuck, that sucks. That _sucks._ His heart hurts just _imagining_ it, how in the hell is he supposed to be able to _do_ that to him?

 _So maybe I can just… tell him things are getting too serious? That I have other stuff going on, emotional baggage… that’s not even a lie, either._ It sounds good, in theory, but Kazunari has a strong feeling Midorima won’t just accept a wishy-washy answer like that. For hell’s sake, the guy fought for _months_ to get an _actual_ answer about their first night together, even despite two blackouts. Fuck.

This isn’t the same as other guys. He can’t just blow him off like he might an incubus and he can’t just break his heart a little like he might to a human. The last thing he wants to do is just disappear—doing that might honestly be worse than the other two things. He runs through all of the other tactics he could use to end things effectively and they always end with a hard no. They either won’t work or they would hurt him.

And he refuses to hurt Midorima’s feelings.

Groaning, he decides to toss that on the backburner for now. He’s getting nowhere and it’s frustrating him _quickly_.

He’s finally on to soap—only using the available shower gel because as nice as Midorima’s loofah looks, he’s not a fucking _animal_ —and that’s when his mind floats to thoughts of last night. The good part of the night. The date that Kazunari had sort of sprung on Midorima, not really realizing what he’d done until he’d paid for both of their pizza and Midorima had gotten this bewildered look on his face and struggled to thank him. He smiles at that. His mind wanders to even earlier in the night; kissing Midorima next to the dumpster.

He smiles even wider. _Hilarious_.

And then… he thinks about earlier than that. The conversation with Imayoshi. No, the fight. It was definitely a fight. His smile vanishes.

 _I know that you_ wish _you were different, but you need to **grow up.**_

Kazunari scowls. It had gotten kind of ugly, it’s been a while since Ima-kun’s lost it and yelled at him. He feels the muscles in his shoulders tense up as his mind replays as much of the argument as he can remember and pretty soon he’s gritting his teeth.

_‘You risk being discovered.’_

Fucking hell. He’s still mad about that little transgression even though he knows it’s true. Sure, his knee-jerk reaction last night was to deny it up and down and be super offended but of course he’s right. He’s been sloppy with Midorima since the very beginning, at the rate he’s fucking up at it would only be a matter of time before he made some sort of irreversible mistake.

Damn, this means he has to apologize to Ima-kun. Kazunari sighs heavily, immediately dreading _that_ conversation. It’s not like he has a hard time apologizing but Imayoshi can be… an _insufferable_ person to apologize to.

_Shit, he was talking to Tatsuya when I left, too… he totally tattled on me. Now Tatsuya’s gonna be on my case about feeding properly and he’s gonna be way more involved about it then Ima-kun ever was… Fuuuck, and Tatsuya might call Mom…!_

It sucks to end the shower on such a bitter note, but Kazunari’s long overstayed his welcome. He turns off the shower, makes sure all of the toiletries are exactly as he found them, then pauses before opening the shower door. He’s glanced at the shampoo there every time he’s used the shower here and hasn’t used it because it looks _expensive_ , even more expensive than the gel he’s been appropriating because he’d at least seen that brand in stores before. He has no intention of using it now but if it’s the shampoo Midorima uses he kind of wants to smell it a last time… which is totally not weird, he tells himself.

Opening it, he sniffs once and smiles, a little bitter. Yep, that is definitely the shampoo he uses. He opens the shower door and steps out, still holding the shampoo to his nose even as he fetches the towel he’s borrowing. He really, like, _can’t_ get enough of the scent, even aside from the sentimentality of it, and lightly squeezes the bottle to get one last strong whiff—then pauses.

Is that coffee?

He squeezes again and gets nothing but delicate flowery scents, with a hint of honey and oat, tickling his nose, so his brow furrows in confusion.

Then he smells it again—coffee.

Kazunari looks at the bathroom door. It must be coming from the kitchen.

_But… who would be… did someone else…_

Curious and confused, Kazunari wraps the towel around his waist and opens the bathroom door. The smell of brewing coffee becomes stronger once he does, rich and complex enough that he can tell it’s not the cheap instant crap he drinks at work. What he sees when he opens the door causes him to freeze, his curiosity suddenly being replaced by caution and an almost palpable feeling of something being… _off_.

 

Midorima’s bedroom door is open. And he _knows_ he closed it.

 

That oddity is completely surpassed, however, by the shock Kazunari experiences when he looks in the other direction, towards the kitchen, towards the smell, and sees…

 

 

 

Midorima, dressed in a matching set of pajama pants and shirt, standing in the kitchen, brewing coffee.

 

 

 

Kazunari is totally speechless.

 

 

 

Midorima.

 

 

Dressed. Standing.

 

 

Making coffee.

 

 

 

Midorima hasn’t seemed to notice him yet which makes Kazunari wonder if he’s having a dream. A _very_ lucid dream. The bad feeling he has tells him it’s not. The way the hair on the back of his neck is sticking straight up tells him _it is not._ Reluctantly, carefully, he decides to test how real this is by speaking. He licks his lips before saying,

 

 

“You’re up?”

 

 

Midorima turns to him and Kazunari’s heart jumps into his throat.

 

 

He’s not dreaming. He’s not dreaming.

 

 

This is real. This is _really happening._

 

 

Midorima looks tired, _really_ tired, like he didn’t rest anywhere near as well as Kazunari did, which he probably didn’t.

 

 

But he’s fucking _awake._ Kazunari realizes he’s holding onto the doorframe so tight that his nails are digging into the wood.

 

 

“Good morning,” Midorima says back. His voice is a little hoarse but his tone is almost chipper.

 

 

This is wrong.

 

 

“I’m making us coffee.” Midorima gestures at the dining table which has two mugs set on it.

 

 

This is wrong, all wrong. _Really_ _fucking wrong._

 

 

“I would have attempted breakfast but my reputation for cooking isn’t exactly…” Midorima offers him a conservative smile instead of finishing that sentence.

 

 

When Kazunari doesn’t return it, the smile abruptly fades.

 

 

“Kazunari?”

 

 

“N-no.” Kazunari finally exits the bathroom and takes a wobbly step backward, towards the bedroom. He probably looks as much like a panicked animal as he feels. “No. I’m good. I’m—I’m gonna go.”

 

 

He speeds into the room and begins a frantic search for his clothes.

 

He doesn’t bother drying off at all.

 

Can’t be bothered to fix his shirt once he’s realized it’s on backwards.

 

All he can focus on is the erratic way his heart is racing, the way his blood pounds in his ears, his fight or flight reflex slamming the gas pedal on flight—fucking _run, get out of here_.

 

Can’t find his underwear, but it doesn’t matter.

 

He keeps thinking about what Imayoshi said.

_‘Something is not right.’_

_‘It isn’t just weird. It never happens.’_

_‘He should have been dead.’_

_‘You need to leave it alone.’_

 

Midorima had _almost died last night_. Not even really last night, either, it was just _a few_ _hours_ ago. For all Kazunari knows, he might have _actually died_ for a brief moment then—his heartbeat had been _so_ weak and he’d been crying _so_ hard and he may have just _imagined that he could still hear it so he could keep clinging onto hope that he’d make it…_

_What. The fuck._

_Seriously, what the fuck!?_

 

 

He’s more than startled.

He’s more than surprised.

He’s exactly what Imayoshi told him he should have been all along—

 

_Fucking disturbed._

 

Kazunari doesn’t have time to look at Midorima’s face or pull his coat on all the way as he speeds out of the apartment. He can’t even muster the courtesy it takes to say goodbye. He’s moving so quickly, he can’t control the force with which he shuts the door.

 

He races down the stairs, almost tripping on the last few steps.

 

Kazunari gets out to the sidewalk and keeps up the pace, jogging in some general direction he chooses at random.

 

He’s shaking.

 

He should be happy that Midorima is up.

 

That’s all he ever fucking wanted!

 

To sleep with a human and have them be completely okay after the fact.

 

Greet him in the morning with coffee and a shy smile.

 

But it’s _so_ wrong, it’s _so_ fucked up, it’s _so_ unnatural that he can’t feel any sort of good about it.

 

He stopped keeping count of the dead ones, but he remembers their faces.

 

Those faces just run through his mind and soon he’s not jogging anymore, he’s running.

 

He’s running, he’s _so fucking_ _freaked out_ _by what he’s just seen._

 

All he can think of is a sequence of dull eyes, open mouths, pasty, pallid skin, bulging veins, stiff fingers clinging to his hips—and at the end of that ghastly parade of images,

 

Midorima, smiling at him, brewing coffee.

 

✦

 

Shintarou stares at the front door, the slam it made still echoing in his ears.

He’s stuck like that, glued in that spot until the smell of burning coffee snaps him out of it.

Moving on auto-pilot, what just happened replaying in his head, he pours the dark liquid from the pot into one of the mugs on the dining table. He stops mid-way.

He doesn’t even like coffee. He’d only brewed this because of the time a few weeks ago when Kazunari had let it slip that he likes coffee, but complained that he only ever drinks ‘the cheap stuff or the watered down, commercial stuff.’ It had seemed like the perfect time to finally break out the high-grade Colombian coffee he’d received as a gift once.

 

He throws the coffee out in the sink; first the mug, then the pot.

 

He can’t say he understands what’s just happened.

 

In fact, he spends the next hour thinking it over. Trying to discern if he’d offended Kazunari somehow. Trying to remember if Kazunari had mentioned having somewhere to be first thing in the morning. Trying to decode the inexplicable fear in Kazunari’s eyes as he’d peered at him from the bathroom. His jaw tightens and he gives up on attempting to justify this or salvage anything even slightly comforting from it. He has to meet Akashi for brunch at ten. He needs to get ready.

 

It just doesn’t make sense.

 

Not after last night.

 

Not after the way Kazunari had looked at him, after he’d opened up.

 

 

…Not after he’d finally managed to meet him in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Shin-chan :(
> 
> Excited legit isn't even the word to describe how I feel about actually updating this after a month. I'm seriously so proud of myself lol.
> 
> Right, so like I said in the beginning note I've got nooo idea what city this takes place in. Since this is an alternate universe with incubi and succubi, I'm just going to say this takes place in some fictional city that will likely never be named, vaguely Japanese in culture but with a layout similar to New York City. *shrug* I'm not good with settings, what can I say?
> 
> Thanks to this chapter, I'm in love with the idea of Takao trying foods in front of Midorima like you would with a baby or very young child to get them to try it, too lol. Also making out in cars is really hot?
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I worked my butt off on this one! See you next month!
> 
> **Edit: there was an embarrassing inconsistency where Takao says he turned twenty-five last month.... Even though it's been two months since they first met in "late November" to quote the first chapter. Fixed!


	7. horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takao fucks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, I return bearing an offering of smut to you all in exchange for forgiveness. I reeeeeally hadn't meant for that little hiatus to happen (this chapter has been at 80-90% for months). but here it is, chapter seven, in all its NSFW glory.
> 
> This contains the ~~longest,~~ ~~most gratuitous,~~ ~~most shameful,~~ ~~maybe best smut scene I've ever written so...~~ I'm kind of proud of it and would like to know if it's actually that good or if I've deluded myself into writing I-dont-even-want-to-know-how-many words of gay porn. I must mention that Two Weeks, Kicks, In Time, and (esp) Lights On by FKA twigs seriously improved the scene immeasurably--they were the perfect soundtrack to smut proofreading for this chapter. (they're also perfect for reading the scene to, in case anyone's interested in that)
> 
> Also, the entire chapter is 18K? Is this a good thing? I'm sorry either way.
> 
> enjoy!

He can’t remember where he is.

“T—?”

He can’t even remember what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Takao—?”

Kazunari grits his teeth, his head feeling like it’s about to split in two.

“Takaocchi??”

He shuts his eyes even tighter, his hands balled up into fists and uselessly pressing into his temples.

“Takaocchi??”

_It hurts. It fucking hurts—!_

“Takaocchi!”

Someone’s shaking him.

“Are you okay??”

Kazunari’s eyes flutter open and his vision is a little blurred. Right, he’s at work. His head still feels like someone is hammering a pike right down its center but he lifts it from his desk to look at whoever’s talking to him.

“Huh?”

His vision clears just in time to register Kise looking down at him, frowning… he looks really worried.

“Are you alright? You’ve been sitting here like that for a while… it’s ten past four.”

Ten past four? Kazunari glances at the clock perched on one of the walls.

“Oh.” He pushes his chair out and automatically begins to gather his things, though truthfully the idea of taking the train home right now is making him want to sit back down and just suffer at his desk for the rest of eternity.

“Takaocchi?” When he doesn’t answer and just stands up, Kise tries again. “Long day…?”

“…Yeah.”

More like a long three weeks.

The last bump of life force he’d gotten had been a month and a half ago, when he’d bolted from Midorima’s place like the building was on fire. He’d had a good two weeks of feeling energized and healthy, followed by a week of feeling normal, followed by a few days of forgetfulness, and then, finally, the hunger pains started. Normally, that’s when he would have hunted—he tends to feed every three weeks or so. But ever since that whole thing with Midorima he’s kind of... just not… been up to it.

He always ends up thinking of one of two things: either how close Midorima was to dying that night or the last way he’d looked at him, that rare smile of his disappearing as he called his name, all confused and probably a little sad, and _god_ he must have been _so hurt_ by the way he just ran out and—

 

Yeah. That’s no mood to try to seduce someone in.

 

He hasn’t returned to Cheeky since then. In fact, he hasn’t really been going out at all, even before the last three weeks of torture sapped away all of the energy and cheeriness he’s typically known for. While now he just can’t muster up the strength for a night out, before he’d just been too… sad.

And he's really felt like he has no right to be. Hell, if _he’s_ feeling sad after that whole mess, just thinking of how _Midorima_ , socially awkward and secretly insecure and seemingly a little lonely Midorima, must have felt afterward…

 _God_ , he’s a shitty person.

He’d considered going back to Cheeky the next weekend, even made it as far as the entrance before deciding this was all probably for the best. If he’d seen him that night, then what? He’d have to lie to him again, make something up about an emergency or say that he was freaked out by how serious things seemed to be getting. And Midorima had believed him so _thoroughly_ when he’d lied about their first night—just _believed_ him as Kazunari had told him a lie that essentially put the blame on _him_ for getting too sloppy to remember their time together.

He still feels like shit about that.

So he’s decided no more lies and to just leave things as they ended. It isn’t the neatest break, but it’s a definite one. He hates thinking about it because those thoughts always wind up back to their little date, how Midorima had patiently allowed himself to be dragged around, how he’d blushed when they held hands, how they’d kissed and kissed and kissed for what felt like forever in the car… all that mushy stuff.

He really hates thinking about it but it’s all he’s been able to do lately.

 

“Takaocchi? Earth to Takaocchi…”

 

“Huh?” Kazunari snaps back to attention. He and Kise are just leaving the building and he knows Kise’s been talking this whole time but… “Sorry, sorry. I’m just a bit out of it today.”

He frowns, looking like he might want to complain, but lets it go. “Do you need me to repeat what I said?”

Kazunari blushes and cringes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Kise sighs and zips up his coat, shivering as the two of them confront the mid-March cold. “I was _saying_ that I know you’ve been busy lately but can we _please_ meet up soon? My appointment with Hasegawa is next week and I really need more stuff for my portfolio…”

“Oh my god,” he gasps. _Shit—I totally forgot about that._

“Yeah,” Kise replies, a little moodily. “So, if you have time this weekend…?”

Kazunari _really_ hasn’t meant to keep blowing Kise off like this. For a while it was because of the Midorima thing but in more recent weeks he’s been purposely canceling because…

Well, he’s starting to lose control of his allomones.

He first noticed it two weeks ago, at work of all places. Miyaji approached him to talk over a deadline being moved up for a project (his _least_ favorite topic of work discussion) and just after they’d finished and Kazunari turned back to his computer, Miyaji had put his hand on his shoulder. He thought nothing of it, at first; it just seemed like one of those friendly, keep up the good work types of shoulder pats—and sure, that would have been odd behavior for someone like _Miyaji Kiyoshi_ , who is more prone to using bouts of yelling and threats of projectile fruit to motivate his workforce… but not totally out of place for the office environment.

But then it _lingered_ there. Miyaji’s hand lingered on his shoulder, then slid across it until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of his neck. Kazunari just about swallowed his tongue and he’d slowly turned to stare at Miyaji in complete astonishment. When their eyes met, it was like Miyaji snapped out of a trance and he’d yanked his hand back so fast it wouldn’t have surprised him if it had flown off in the process. He’d sputtered something about getting back to work and practically ran away and then Kazunari had proceeded to cancel all personal engagements with any humans he’s acquainted with.

Totally forgetting that Kise actually _needed_ to meet up.

The poor guy has been really anxious about this meeting with his modeling agent, apparently some hotshot who isn’t even taking new people on anymore because she’s so caught up with her current squadron of soon-to-be supermodels, if he’s to take his friend’s words at face value. Kise is the only amateur on her roster and Kazunari has been very aware of how anxious this meeting has been making him—they video chat something around three times a week, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was add to his anxiety by pushing their photoshoot back over and over, but somehow he’d just kept forgetting to reschedule. (Well, not somehow. Goddamn hunger sickness…)

The main reason that he’s been pushing it back, though, is that ‘moment’ he’d shared with Miyaji. Once upon a time, long ago enough that they can laugh about it but not so long ago that it isn’t still _awkward_ laughter, when Kazunari had been similarly starved for energy and he and Kise had gotten stuck in the building’s elevator after lunch, they’d kissed. …Well, they’d made out. Thank the devil they’d only been stuck for a few minutes as opposed to a few hours (which has happened to others) or else there’s no telling how far it might have gone… and it might have slipped firmly into ‘our friendship will never be the same’ territory.

But anyway, this is unavoidable. And at least they won’t be locked in a small box together!

“Yeah, I’m free this weekend! I’m really sorry I’ve kept canceling, I’ve just been—”

“‘Busy,’ I know,” Kise finishes for him, his tone airy. He probably doesn’t _quite_ believe him but he’s making it clear he won’t pursue it.

Good ol’ Kise. Kazunari laughs a little.

“Yeah, I know it’s been annoy—OH!” _Curse_ his stupid forgetfulness! “I actually have this freelance gig! Shit, oh my god, I think Hitomi wanted it done by Sunday…” His words dissolve into a series of introspective mumbles as he pulls out his phone and checks his calendar, then his text messages. Kise is on his own phone and they walk in silence for a few minutes before he finds what he’s looking for.

“Okay, so—”

“If Takaocchi is about to cancel on me again, I think I’ll be _really_ annoyed…” Kise interrupts him, eyes still glued to his screen. Upon closer inspection, Kazunari can see Kise’s a little… _mad._ Shit.

“No, no, no! Not canceling, I swear.” He holds up his phone to Kise who glances at it.

“What am I looking at?”

“It’s the website for this boutique—Kise, take it!” Kise stubbornly puts his own device back in his pocket, takes the phone from him, and begins scrolling. “Last year, I accepted this photography gig for them; they wanted some high quality, out on the town type stuff to showcase their spring collection. We used the owner’s daughter as the model…” He takes his phone back, opens his e-mail, and quickly finds the photos from last year’s shoot. “And we just walked around the city, changing outfits in public bathrooms, and shooting what looked good.”

Kise takes the phone again and begins swiping through the pictures. Good, good, he looks a lot less annoyed…

“I totally forgot but Hitomi—the owner—wants me to do the same thing as last year but this time for both her women’s and _men’s_ lines.” He elbows Kise in the side at that. ‘So as long as you’re okay with a super amateur set up, we can potentially add a _shit ton_ of photos to your portfolio—”

“ _Yeah!_ ” Kise has officially recovered from his surly mood and his eyes are shining. He hands Kazunari’s phone back to him and smiles. “That sounds _perfect!_ ”

Kazunari smiles back; and since his headache is actually fading a bit, it even manages to be a real one. “Awesome! I’ll get everything set up and we’ll meet on Saturday?”

Kise nods enthusiastically and Takao feels relieved that he finally isn’t mad anymore. And relieved that he’s got a project to keep himself occupied with for the rest of the week. It’s Wednesday, so he’s only got a few days—and only after work, to further complicate things—to touch base with Hitomi about the exact outfits she wants. He’ll probably do the shoot with Kana on Sunday, he should figure out a few locations for that.

 

And on Sunday night, he should probably go hunting.

 

✦

 

Shintarou glances at the time on his car’s radio once again. He supposes he _is_ a tad early but it’s honestly a little unexpected for Akashi to take his time like this. It may be that this is what he usually does with his driver… Actually, the more he thinks about it, he’s certain that this is exactly what Akashi does—calls his chauffeur to pick him up earlier than he needs to depart to give him ample time to get stopped by red lights or slowed down by traffic. And if he gets there promptly? Then he sits there and waits for _Akashi-sama_ to grace him with his presence.

…He’s been easily annoyed these days. This is something Shintarou’s been fully aware of and yet, for some reason, he offered to pick Akashi up at his penthouse on their way to lunch. Apparently, the chauffeur has been firmly stuck in a traffic jam caused by a pretty serious accident for several hours. Instead of pushing their meeting back, and because Akashi would obviously never even entertain the mere _idea_ of public transit, Shintarou thought this to be the best recourse. He’s been parked outside of the towering high-rise for nearly ten minutes now, though, and he’s just on the verge of regretting things when the automatic doors part and the person he’s waiting on exits the building.

 _Finally_ , he thinks as he turns the car back on. It’s been quite some time since he’s driven Akashi anywhere, and he similarly imagines it’s probably been some time since Akashi opened a car door for himself, so it’s a bit of a pleasant surprise to see that Akashi doesn’t expect him to do anything more than unlock the doors. It’s not that his friend has changed much since their time spent in middle and high school—he’s always been demanding and held himself to astronomically high standards. It’s just that now, with the actual reputation and job title to justify such a disposition, his entire _aura_ seems to have changed. Bafflingly enough, however, he also seems to have become more… genial?

“Shintarou,” Akashi states by way of greeting as he enters the car, even offering him a smile. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

Midorima sighs then and gets the car moving. “No more than I expected to wait.”

“Heh, is that so?”

The next few minutes are spent driving in some of the signature comfortable silence that makes up a great deal of their time together. Akashi’s always occupied with something or other on either one of his two (or is it three?) phones and it’s one of them that actually causes him to break the silence.

“Ah. It appears as though one of my chargers may be broken… This battery should be full. Do you still have that car charger?”

“I haven’t used it in some time, actually… but yes, it should be in here somewhere.” Keeping his eyes mainly on the road, Shintarou opens the center console as Akashi pops open the glove compartment. The idiot in front of him is driving erratically, demanding all of his attention by speeding up and slowing down without warning, and Shintarou is forced to leave Akashi to search for himself, placing both hands back on the steering wheel and sucking his teeth in annoyance.

“What is this?” Akashi asks. Shintarou glances over to catch a glimpse of what Akashi is referring to—and his eyes widen. His pulse rapidly increases and his heart feels like it’s beating directly against the wall of his chest.

 

Akashi is holding a drawing; a black, white, and partly red caricature drawn on a sheet of 11x17 paper.

His body moves faster than his mind can.

 

He snatches the paper from Akashi’s grasp, swiftly tosses it back into the glove compartment, and then slams it shut.

 

“It’s not in there,” he snaps as he refocuses on the road, voice strained.

It takes less than a second for him to feel Akashi’s gaze burning into him, trying to pick apart that curious, hostile reaction. Shintarou pointedly ignores him and fishes into the center console once again, finding the charger and silently handing it to Akashi. His companion continues to stare at him for a tense moment, clearly displeased by what just happened… but it soon passes and he takes the charger from him.

“Thank you, Shintarou,” he says, even managing to sound cordial. They seem to have wordlessly agreed to leave that transgression of sorts alone. Although, knowing Akashi, he’s probably storing the moment away for future reference… The rest of the drive goes on in a resumed mutual silence but… but… fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

He’d had _no_ idea _that_ was in there.

 

Naturally, he’d wondered where the portrait from that night had ended up. Kazunari left so quickly he’d actually managed to leave his _underwear_ behind in his hurried desperation—something that Shintarou has _very_ awkwardly been hiding at the very bottom of his clothes hamper. He _refuses_ to wash them with his own unmentionables and then tuck them away like some sort of… _underwear hoarding pervert_ , but he also can’t bring himself to dispose of them permanently for _some_ horrifying reason. Every time he does his laundry, the black boxer briefs make their reappearance and demand his attention, reminding him of what a bizarre secret he’s keeping and, worse yet, reminding him of the person they belong to. And then he takes off an article of clothing and tosses it on top of them, effectively shutting down any more recollections before they get out of hand.

 

But the portrait. This is much harder to push out of his mind than some forgotten underwear.

 

It dredges up all sorts of feelings, most of which negative. _Very_ negative.

 

It makes him think about the three excursions he’d made to Cheeky after Kazunari’s sudden early morning departure. How the first time, he’d stormed in at just the right time of night to catch him, guns metaphorically blazing, nostrils flared, hurt and ready to demand answers—and how he’d had a couple of drinks and gone home, dejected, after Kazunari hadn’t shown up. How the second time, he’d asked his preferred bartender, Mayuzumi, about him and how he’d shrugged and given him non-answers. How the third time, he’d questioned the raven-haired bartender with the beauty mark, Himuro, and how he’d said he and Kazunari don’t really talk.

 _That_ exchange was what inspired his decision to give up.

He remembers the time he’d ran into Kazunari leaving the bar, rushing after Himuro because they were late to something, and he clearly recalls Kazunari referring to him as his ‘cousin.’ On their date, Kazunari had said he has cousins that he thought of as brothers… no, _specifically_ he had said he has ‘a couple cousins’ that he thought of in that way. And judging from how he’s seen them interact at the bar… Shintarou immediately knew Himuro had told him a bald-faced lie. And there is really only one conceivable reason for that.

Kazunari is avoiding him.

Kazunari is avoiding him and he instructed the two people Shintarou was most likely to seek answers from to keep their mouths shut.

…That realization took weeks to get over. He’d briefly entertained the idea of waiting a while and then returning to Cheeky on a weekend, or maybe even asking one of the other people Kazunari usually hangs around with there. But… he decided it would be pointless.

Kazunari doesn’t want to see him.

Shintarou doesn’t have his full name. He doesn’t have his phone number or e-mail address. Not even an account for one of the more frivolous social media sites like Twitter or Instagram.

He doesn’t know what neighborhood he lives in. Or the name of his design firm.

It’s almost like Kazunari didn’t happen to him at all… but that could never be the case. That could never be how he truly feels because there are still traces of him everywhere.

From the boxers at the bottom of his hamper to the horrid portrait that has apparently been safely tucked away in his car’s glovebox. There are still traces of Kazunari in his thoughts, in his dreams. At the mention of pizza or ice cream. When he wakes up with morning wood. When he goes to bed alone.

 

It’s as if by disappearing, he’s somehow made himself omnipresent.

 

His fingers tremble slightly when he thinks about his front door slamming.

 

“Are you alright, Shintarou? We’ve arrived.”

 

He starts.

Not only have they arrived and not only has he apparently parked the car while leagues deep into his own thoughts, but Akashi is speaking to him from outside the passenger door, waiting for him to exit.

“I’m fine,” he replies automatically, unbuckling himself and shaking his head to clear it a bit. It doesn’t really work but it’ll have to do. “I’m right behind you.”

 

✧

 

“You’re in a much better mood today, Takaocchi,” Kise says from the inside of the bathroom stall.

“You think so?” Kazunari asks, surprised at his words and leaning against the stall from the outside. He checks the time and it’s half past one—not that it matters how long this amateur photoshoot takes so long as they’re blessed with proper daylight. Looking up from his phone, he thinks some more about what Kise’s said. “I guess I’m feeling okay today.”

It’s true, too. For some reason, since late last night (late, _late_ last night—the kind of late that is technically morning and actually just a few hours before their meeting), he’s actually been feeling kind of… alright. At some point, the hunger pains just sort of died down for seemingly no reason, allowing him the first precious hours of sleep he’s had in three days. The timing really couldn’t be much better since hunger makes it pretty hard for him to spend time alone with Kise and makes it even harder to take quality photographs. He can kind of phone it in tomorrow with Kana since she’s actually a history major who only models as favors for her mom… but he really wants to do his best for Kise—he needs it.

“You almost set?” Takao calls as he steps away from the stall and approaches the mirror. He observes his appearance in it, already thinking about seduction strategies for tomorrow. Location is always the toughest to figure out… but if he can keep riding this strange wave of only slight pain through the rest of the night and at least some of the day tomorrow, the rest will fall into place. He _does_ have a bit of a bad feeling about this lack of pain, though… like this might just be the calm before the storm… especially since he’s really only experienced this sudden waning once before…

His train of thought is interrupted by Kise opening the bathroom stall in the third to last of the outfits from Hitomi’s boutique: a deceptively simple, lightweight, almost pastel pink crew neck sweater, a pair of straight light beige trousers with a slim fit that stops about a third of the way to the ankle, and a pair of chestnut brown desert boot Vans that Kise brought from home. (Hey, Hitomi doesn’t sell shoes and they had to make it work _somehow._ )

“How do I look?” he asks, eyes intent on his reflection and hands busy making small adjustments as soon as the mirror’s in his sights. Kazunari looks him over, contemplative.

“Hm… I think the top’s a bit loose.”

Kise sighs. “Like everything else today.”

“Yeah,” he replies, chuckling. But that’s what he’s brought his sewing kit along for! Well, not the entire thing—more like a few safety pins, a needle, and some thread, just in case, but they’ve proven to be indispensable for the day. Because Kazunari waited so long to get started on this project, it’s not like Kise had the time to go to the boutique himself and get fitted or acquainted with the designer at all... A real shame that he’ll have to rectify one of these days—he's realized that Kise would _love_ the place.

After a few short minutes of adjusting and pinning to ensure the clothes hang and fit where they should, Kazunari takes a step back and nods once, satisfied.

“Good, right?” he asks, just to make sure. Between the two of them, Kise _is_ the one better acquainted with fashion, after all.

“Yep, looks good!” he chirps back. The two of them smile at each other in the mirror before prancing back out.

They get a few weird looks on their way out of the café, the last one they’d found after a long string of establishments with strict ‘paying customers only’ bathroom rules. Kise gazes longingly at the backboard menu, then the glass displays of confections one last time before they push open the entrance.

“Do you think we can come back here? Once we’re done?”

Takao laughs. “You are _so_ predictable.”

“What? The menu looked good! And the smell…” Kise’s expression temporarily melts into one of forlorn yearning and he sighs.

“Oh, _please._ The barista was hot and you _know it._ ”

Kise flushes bright red at the accusation. Basically an admission that he’s at least partially right.

“A-Anyway, anyway, w-what do you think about that fountain?”

“Oh, my dear, sweet Ryouta-kun… you read my mind.”

 

✦

 

Shintarou knows the Akashi Research Institute is a prestigious institution. He _knows_ this and yet today he can’t help but roll his eyes in exasperation at Akashi informing him that he _still_ can’t begin work.

This is becoming absurd.

If it were anyone else, _anyone_ but Akashi Seijuurou himself providing him with all of these vague excuses for why he can’t start this job yet, Shintarou would have withdrawn his application weeks ago.

First, he’d been waiting for the “on-boarding” to be complete, something Akashi had informed him was done in cycles. Then, he’d had to come in again and fill out the usual suspects—tax forms, that sort of thing. A few weeks later, he’d come in to sign some non-disclosure agreements. The week after that, he’d signed some _more_ non-disclosure agreements. Then Akashi had started inviting him out on these little lunches, usually bringing along a carrycase that held some manner of paperwork for Shintarou to read over and sign. He has never been, _could_ never be the type of person to skim over a long legal document or blindly sign any dotted line (with the exception of most online terms and services agreements—he’s only human)… but he’s beginning to understand the appeal. Especially since every time he’s hoping he’s finished, Akashi breaks out something new he needs to go over. All of the bureaucracy is beginning to feel like a ruse. Like something to distract him from how abnormally long it’s taking to get him in a lab coat and on ARI property.

However, that might be a bit conspiratorial. In any case, it looks as though he won't be signing anything today.

“I must admit, Akashi,” Shintarou says. “I was relieved to see you without your briefcasetoday.”

Akashi lets out a clear, melodic chuckle at his words. “Yes, I can imagine you are growing tired of reading and signing documents.”

“To put it lightly.”

“I truly do apologize for the wait, Shintarou.” Though a slight smile persists, Akashi’s tone grows more serious. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, my hands are actually tied at the moment.” There’s a brief pause at this rather interesting junction in the conversation as their food arrives. They take a moment to start their meals before Shintarou speaks up again.

“How do you mean?”

Akashi sighs softly, his eyes somewhat downcast—he even brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. The gesture is more than a little disarming since it’s so unusual for Akashi to display any outward signs of distress—even in front of Shintarou.

“I have been personally overseeing the process of hiring you since it began but unfortunately…” Akashi even seems to _grit his teeth_ for a moment. “Progress has been obstructed by those at a higher position of influence than I.”

“I… see.” Well, this lunch is turning out to at least be fruitful—this is the first concrete reason he’s been provided since this long waiting period began. Even if the reason is actually quite odd… it must have something to do with his background not being in genetic science. “Is there anything that I can do to help speed it along…?”

“I assure you that if there was, I would have insisted you do it well before now. As things currently stand, there’s little more that can be done on your end but to wait. I know you must be restless to begin working but I am confident that you will soon enough.” Akashi’s eyes meet with Shintarou’s then; crimson and gold irises burning with great intensity. “I need you on my team, Shintarou.”

The underlying message of that is clear—‘do not lose interest and withdraw your application.’

It isn’t the first time that Akashi’s made it seem Very Important that Shintarou join his research team—a team working on projects so large and complex that they actually conduct their studies in their own separate facility, located about twenty miles away from the main ARI campus. Still, it’s been bothering him because…

“Akashi…” Shintarou stares at his food for a moment, mulling his thoughts over some more. _No, it really doesn’t make sense with the information that I currently have._ “Why? Why do you need _me?_ ”

Akashi offers him another faint smile. “I must say, I don’t think I’m used to you fishing for compliments, Shintarou. Are you looking for affirmation that you _do_ have the job?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just don’t understand why it seems to be… almost _imperative_ that you have me on your staff.” Knowing full well that he’s discrediting himself to the person who is essentially his employer, Shintarou plows forward anyway. “I’m not a geneticist.”

At this remark, Akashi sighs again. This time it sounds a bit amused and a bit exasperated all at once.

“Shintarou, haven’t you realized it yet? My research team doesn’t need another geneticist, we need an _anatomist._ A dedicated one, one with a true interest in the field. Your education in biology and genetics is passable enough that you shouldn’t be too unfamiliar with the fundamental basis of our endeavors. If I find you to be lacking in any capacity, surely you wouldn’t object to something akin to a training summit?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

That is… somewhat reassuring, actually. In fact, it makes him think back to what Kazunari said.

‘ _If they want you, then they probably have something in mind for you, right?_ ’

That memory leads him to thinking about the paper in his glove compartment, though, and he bitterly bites his lip to snap himself out of it.

“Ah. Actually, I misspoke.”

Shintarou raises an eyebrow.

“There _is_ one thing you may want to concern yourself with. My father wishes to conduct his own interview with you before the board makes the final decision on whether or not to hire you.”

Wait. What?

“W- _What?_ ”

“The time isn’t set quite yet as his secretary is still finding a way to ‘squeeze you in,’ as it were…”

_This… things are back to not making sense. Akashi’s father—Akashi Yoshiro wants to see me personally??_

“But it is currently slated for next Wednesday…”

Shintarou’s dumbfounded. _And why would the entire board need to approve of my hiring?_

“Probably sometime early in the morning.” When Shintarou doesn’t respond and just stares straight ahead in stunned silence, Akashi calls out to him. “Shintarou?”

 

✧

 

It really is a picturesque day; perfect for photography.

Sure, it’s actually still pretty cold out, despite how bright the sun is shining—but Takao is prone to feeling hot when he’s this low on life force anyway, hence his just wearing sneakers, jeans, and a tank top under a simple blue hoodie. (Kise had commented on it immediately upon meeting, whining that the mere sight of him was making him freeze.)

Kazunari sits up momentarily from where he’s lying down with Kise, sprawled out head-to-head, sharing his earbuds on the cold grass of a tiny, somewhat secluded park hidden a few deliberate turns away from one of midtown’s main streets. He takes another sip of his hot chocolate, happy that it hasn’t gone cold yet. They’d had to make a bit of a trek back to that café Kise had been into since they’d wandered around some more for the last few outfits. (…And because Takao had gotten sidetracked in photographing his surroundings.) It had definitely been worth it, though.

This hot chocolate is _good._

Normally, he would have gotten coffee but—his heart twinges and he forces himself to stop thinking about it.

Suffice to say he hasn’t really been drinking coffee these days... and for a while.

He lies back down in the grass, not giving a damn that the two of them are stretched out on the ground like it’s a summer afternoon—and why should he care after all the weird looks they’d been on the receiving end of today, what with Kise strutting out of public restrooms wearing entirely different ensembles than he’d walked into them with and Kazunari hustling out after him, carrying their bags like a harried assistant. He lets out a sigh and a faint hint of vapor escapes him.

That really is his favorite thing about cold weather.

And he really is grateful to have a friend like Kise—someone who _despises_ the cold but is still willing to lay down outside and listen to music with him in the middle of March… seemingly just ’cause he asked him to. He’s feeling so calm right now, so content in this moment that the pain running through him seems even duller than before.

“ _Mmmm…_ ” Kise groans and stretches his arms out. Takao leans his head back as far as he can to catch a glimpse of Kise’s golden locks just as his head lifts from the ground. At first he nearly giggles because watching him from this angle looks kinda trippy but that soon turns to unhappy grumbling once Kise takes his earbud out and begins to stand up.

“Oh, don’t give me that, it’s _cold_ , Takaocchi! I have _no_ clue how you can stand being out here dressed like that.” As if to emphasize his point, Kise shivers within the toasty confines of his collared jacket.

“After all of the outrageous things I’ve seen you wear to night clubs, you don’t have _aaany_ license to criticize _my_ choice of clothing.”

“I don’t wear anything _outrageous!_ ” Kise snaps, offended. “You just don’t understand the cutting edge of fashion.”

“ _You just don’t understand the cutting edge of fashion~~_ ” he mocks back, adding in some glitzy flourishes and gesticulation.

“You are _so rude_. Now come on, you…” Kise huffs, tugging on Kazunari’s arm and hoisting him to his feet. He groans in protest but allows himself to be pulled up. “As much as I enjoy laying around in the freezing cold with you—”

“It is _not_ freezing,” Kazunari scoffs.

“Speak for yourself! And this is totally weird for you, anyway, I thought you _hated_ the cold more than anyone!”

…It’s true. He’s everyone’s least favorite person in the office during the summer because he’s constantly complaining about the A/C blasting.

_But 18 degrees? Come on, that’s fuckin’ criminal…_

Kazunari shrugs at Kise and picks up the large duffel bag containing the boutique’s clothes (initially tucked away haphazardly before Kise scolded him and rearranged everything back onto their appropriate hangers and ‘garment bags’ or whatever). Kise takes his cue and picks up his own bag—a faux leather backpack holding a few pairs of Kise’s most fashionably flexible shoes and covered in a variety of (excessively adorable) Pikachu prints.

“So what’s been going on with you lately?” Kazunari asks as they begin to walk, changing the subject. He doesn’t _have_ an answer for Kise’s comment about the cold so it’s best to move on. What is he supposed to say? He’s having hot flashes??

“A whole bunch of nothing, that’s what…” When Kise doesn’t elaborate on that, Takao finds himself surprised to see him looking… _bitter._ Whoa. This agent thing must really be getting to him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just…” He sighs. “I-I don’t know, Takaocchi. I… really want to be a model. I kind of fudged my chance to get into it when I was younger ’cause my sisters were pushing me into it and… I don’t know, I guess at the time I just wanted to do the opposite of everything they said.”

Kazunari nods. He’s heard this part before—Kise purposely pursued sports as a small act of teenage rebellion against his family. And he can hardly blame him for it. What teenager isn’t desperate to stick it to their folks in some way, even once?

“Now that I actually _want_ to do it, I’m just so mad at myself for not letting them help me, you know? Like, everyone knows that the modeling world is competitive but _trust me,_ Takaocchi—you only really start to learn how bad it is when you’re trying to enter it.” Kazunari stares at the pavement as they walk, listening intently. “When I was sixteen or whatever, all I had was free time but now that I’m twenty-three and I’m living alone and I’ve got bills and rent and… _ugh_ , I need the _time_ if I want to pursue it seriously but you don’t get _paid_ to search for modeling gigs…”

“Yeah…”

“It’s just really been getting to me lately. Even more so because my agent’s other clients have all been taking off and she’s starting to, like… lose interest in me…”

Kazunari places a hand on Kise’s back and he starts a little before looking down at him.

“Kise, it isn’t the _worst_ thing in the world to have a steady job that pays decent.”

Kise laughs once. The sadness is still there but at least he’s smiling.

“Yeah… Yeah, I know.”

“Besides, don’t throw in the towel just yet. The whole purpose of meeting with your agent is to see what she has to say, isn’t it?”

Kise winces. “But she’s so _mean_ …”

“But at least she’s honest, right?”

“Yeah. _Yeah_ , she is definitely _that_.”

This time, it’s Kazunari who laughs.

“And by tomorrow morning you’ll have _these_ sexy new additions to your portfolio,” he adds in a playful tone, lifting the Nikon camera around his neck and elbowing Kise in the side. “Free of charge, by the way.”

“Psh, _please!_ As if I’d pay you after it took you literal _months_ to get around to them!”

“Hm…? You might wanna watch your tone with me, starlet, or my editing hand might end up a little shaky—ow, hey! Don’t hit!”

“ _Don’t_ joke like that! Our friendship is over if you do something like that!”

“You’d _never_ break up with me.”

After a brief thoughtful silence, Kise says, “Okay, you’re right about that. But I _would_ unfollow your Instagram, your Twitter, and _both_ of your blogs.”

Kazunari freezes, mouth agape in absolute shock. “You would _not_ unfollow my sex advice blog. _You’re my only follower!_ ” he protests.

Kise smiles triumphantly and sticks a tongue out at him as he keeps walking.

“Make sure I look gorgeous and you’ll never have to find out!”

 

✦

 

Lunch is drawing to a close and, honestly, Shintarou kind of can’t wait for it do so. He desperately wants to get home and reflect on what he and Akashi have just discussed. The rest of the conversation had mostly been about what to expect from Akashi Yoshiro’s interview on Wednesday—it definitely feels like Akashi is trying to prep him for it. He can’t help but feel it’s a little patronizing but he _is_ familiar with Akashi’s father… and the fact that he has not met the man once despite almost ten years of friendship with his only son speaks volumes in its own way. Akashi came over to Shintarou’s home several times while they were growing up but all of the times Shintarou had been to the Akashi estate, the head of the family either hadn’t been home—sometimes for days or weeks at a time—or if he was home, Shintarou would see neither hide nor hair of him. It had almost been eerie sometimes, knowing that there was this monumentally important man hovering around there _somewhere_ but always, perhaps purposely, staying out of sight.

 

And now he has to convince that man to give him a job.

A job that he more or less doesn’t fit the description for, incidentally.

 

...This is truly the first job interview he’s _actually_ feeling nervous about.

 

Akashi flags down the server in no time flat and politely asks for the check. No doubt with the intention of footing the bill, as he always does.

Shintarou pulls out his phone to check the time, then to check his missed calls. He’s a staunch believer in putting your phone away when spending time with someone and especially when sharing a meal—his parents would have absolutely _none_ of that at the dinner table growing up. And speaking of…

_One from Father and two from Mother._

This… this has become a strange but regular occurrence over the past month or so. Midorima Kaede always calls once a month, like clockwork—always on the 15th, with Sakura receiving her call the day before on the 14th. It’s normally just the once to check on him, occasionally more times than that if there’s a holiday approaching or if something important and relevant to the family has come up. Midorima Shuichi’s phone calls are infrequent by comparison, at least in part due to the fact that Shintarou’s mother often ends up handing the phone over to her husband during her monthly check-ins.

So for _both_ of his parents to be calling him this frequently—it’s become every few days recently—and to be doing it _separately?_ Honestly, it makes him anxious. He hadn’t ignored their calls either, at least not in the beginning. But whenever he would pick up it would just be more of the same—them asking after his health and well-being even though nothing had changed in the short time since the last call. He’d started ignoring the calls a couple of weeks ago and a part of him does feel guilty about it but… _God_ , if they never give him time to have things happen to him, he’ll have nothing to _report_.

_There must be something else going on. But each time I answer, they have nothing to say to me… so maybe t…hey’re…_

Shintarou’s train of thought is derailed by a peculiar sensation—a strangely vague itch of sorts, hard to place but somehow familiar, just beneath his skin. He raises a hand to rub at the nape of his neck and finds that the short hairs there are standing on end. And then he feels it and the feeling is unmistakable.

 

A warm chill.

 

It starts at the skin of his nape and quickly rushes under the entire map of his skin, causing him to shiver slightly before feeling oddly flushed. And once the sensation has passed he glances to his right, out the restaurant’s large storefront window—

 

That…

 

That can’t be.

 

Shintarou freezes. Comes to a complete stop. He’s not even sure he’s breathing.

 

That’s…

 

He’s looking at…

 

The lithe man with raven hair just outside the window has a large, positively stuffed duffel bag slung over one shoulder. There’s a professional camera hanging from around his neck, one that he appears to be scrolling through photos on.

 

 

_That’s… is that Kazunari?_

 

 

It feels like the sound has been sucked out of the room and the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

 

The longer he looks, the more certain he is.

 

That’s him. _That’s him._

 

He’s just beyond the window, standing still and close enough that Shintarou can tell it’s him. It isn’t someone who _looks_ like him.

 

Kazunari.

 

It is _actually Kazunari_ , he’s _fucking certain it is._

 

Suddenly, Kazunari looks up from the camera in his hands, straight ahead. His lips move as he says something to someone.

 

 

And in two steps he’s out of sight.

 

 

…

 

 

Oh, _**hell**_ _no._

 

 

Like _fucking hell_ he is about to let him slip away this time.

 

 

Shintarou abruptly stands from his chair, quick and unthinking, causing it to make a hideous scraping noise against the floor of the restaurant. Akashi starts, taken by surprise.

 

“Shintarou?”

 

But he’s already moving.

 

He’s already outside, whipping his head frantically in any which direction, panicking slightly when he realizes he’s lost him— _there._ Walking in the direction of the metro station with someone.

 

His legs are already on the move to catch up with him.

 

Kazunari’s reached the entrance of the station.

 

He appears to be exchanging goodbyes with that person.

 

Now they’re hugging.

 

…They’re still hugging.

 

…Th-they’re _still_ hugging.

 

Shintarou thinks he can _hear_ his heart breaking in that moment, that he can feel it being torn right down the middle—but just like the rest of him, his heart is far too stubborn and he persists. He keeps walking toward Kazunari as he finally parts ways with the blond interloper and enters the station. He refuses to entertain who that man might be. Not now.

 

He can’t broach those possibilities just yet.

 

Instead, he pours his energy into closing the distance between himself and the station. Every second that Kazunari spends out of his sight, the likelihood of never seeing him again increases.

 

When Shintarou enters the station, he spots him just past the gate. He does a silent prayer, thanking his sister for forgetting her metro pass on his kitchen counter last week, and swipes his way through.

 

How crazy is it that he’d see him today?

 

_Today?_

 

The day when _Akashi_ , of all _random_ people to have in his car, just so happens to open his glovebox, the one part of his car he _never uses_ , and lo and behold, what’s inside of it??

 

_The souvenir from the last night he saw this bastard!?_

 

No fucking way.

 

He is _getting_ his closure.

 

✦

 

_Maybe this is a little much._

 

The thought first strikes him when he sees Kazunari enter one of the trains and he, instinctively, boards the train, too. The cars are segmented as opposed to separated so it almost immediately becomes crucial for Shintarou to attempt to find a blind spot. A sinking feeling forms in his stomach then, one of equal parts horror and frustration, when he realizes that in order to have an unobstructed view of where Kazunari is sitting, he has to be in _his_ eye line, as well. And given how observant Kazunari is and how Shintarou is liable to… _stand out_ , the situation seems doomed.

Until people begin shuffling in. A rather large amount of people, too—in fact, just enough people to obscure Shintarou’s seat while still providing small gaps to observe Kazunari through.

 

 _Alright, this might be going a_ _**bit** _ _far._

 

The second time he thinks it is when the train starts moving. It’s then that he remembers how he ended up here, how he’d abruptly left a rather pleasant lunch with Akashi without any form of explanation, how his _car_ is _still parked_ in a parking lot in midtown. But just when he starts to dwell on those matters too much, he finds himself wondering just who in the _hell_ that blond guy was. And then he glances at Kazunari through the river of people between them, his head down and utterly focused on the camera in his hands, and his heart _aches_ as he remembers how he just… _left._

 

_This… this may be going too far._

 

He thinks it again when they’ve reached the seventh stop and Kazunari still hasn’t gotten off. There’s a word for this, for what he’s doing. It may not have been that back at the station and maybe even the first few stops are somewhat justifiable but this… _this…_

 

_I’ve gone too far._

 

He knows it now, it is no longer a maybe. Kazunari finally begins gathering himself, adjusting the bag that he’d placed on his lap since the beginning of the trip (probably in preparation for the long train ride, he now realizes) and securing his camera in its bag. Shintarou almost freezes again. There are a lot less people now and, really, he should have been caught _ages_ ago. Something about Kazunari seems off, he’s noticed it for a few stops now. He’s been fidgety, bouncing one leg in a sort of nervous manner before switching to bouncing the other. One of his hands will grasp at his side and he’ll sink his fingers into himself from time to time. And other times, Kazunari bites his lip, closes his eyes, and lowers his head for a minute, his hair falling forward and hiding his face.

He looks ill.

…And how is he going to look when he glances up and sees the man he so unceremoniously dumped gawking at him on the goddamn train?

Shintarou’s still poring over this when the next stop is announced and the train grinds to a halt. Kazunari stands up with his things and politely pushes his way through the people in front of him—to an exit in the opposite direction of Shintarou, thank _god._

It’s reflex or something akin to it that leads Shintarou to getting off at the same stop as Kazunari. Almost this… resignation to see things through or maybe it’s just a strong yearning for closure.

 

_I need to stop this. I’m… This is stalking._

 

This is insanity. Now, without all of the other people there to make him feel like just another passenger… Now that it’s just him and Kazunari a few yards in front of him, walking down an empty sidewalk in a residential neighborhood…

He'd just wanted a moment alone with him, but... there’s no denying it. His behavior is totally and completely unacceptable.

There’s still this need in him, though. Something inside him that is positively _drawn_ to Kazunari. Despite his haunting rejection, despite the hurt feelings, even despite the avoidance—despite all of the things that tell Shintarou he needs to let go of this, that he needs to accept that he never was to Kazunari what Kazunari was becoming to him…

 

No.

 

No excuses.

 

 _He’s_ the one that followed him here—Kazunari didn’t have him on a leash.

 

Slow but steady, Shintarou’s footsteps come to a stop.

 

Kazunari walks further away from him. The further he is, the easier this decision becomes.

 

Shintarou adjusts his glasses, forces himself to turn away, and takes a deep, pained breath.

 

_All because of some ridiculous sense of… fate…_

 

He can’t stop himself from turning back once more, can’t help but want to look at him one last time.

 

 

And his heart leaps into his throat at what he sees.

 

✧

 

It’s no good.

Ever since that hug with Kise back at the station, his hunger pains have come back in _full_ force.

Actually, no. No, it’s worse than that.

Takao’s been trying his hardest, for weeks now, to keep a hold on his allomones. It’s different from the enchantment, the seductive charm used to make humans more compliant and open to suggestion, but with enough practice and self-awareness, controlling allomones is done just as easily. You’re not really a full-fledged incubus or succubus until you can control both—captivating prey with the allomones your body gives off and sealing the deal with enchantment. It’s the basics.

…But the demon body behaves strangely when it’s starving.

Ever since the Miyaji thing, Kazunari’s grasp on his allomones has been slipping more and more. Basically, if he isn’t making a conscious effort to keep them under wraps, they go fucking _nuts_ and suddenly it’s like every human in a five-mile radius is complimenting him or asking for his number or making googly eyes or batting their eyelashes at him. And sure, five miles might be hyperbole but it certainly _feels_ that way. The first time his allomones went into overdrive like that, he’d already been in a state of exhaustion and all of the attention had driven him straight into his very first panic attack.

Keeping the allomone output under control is only made harder when he’s suffering through intense hunger pains like he has been lately. Today, though, since the pain had been so subdued, he’d had a fairly easy time keeping it all on lock.

 

Until they _fucking hugged._

 

Kazunari didn’t initiate it. He would _never_ initiate physical contact with a human while in this state unless he was getting ready to bone. Kise had hugged him before he could stop it and of _course_ he’d hugged him back on reflex and there’d been a brief moment when Kazunari could smell Kise’s conditioner and his hair had the slightest scent of _him_ underneath that and _that’s_ what fucking triggered it. Not only had the _crushing_ pain slammed into him again, causing him to bite his tongue and hold onto Kise tighter, but he had felt his allomones just… just fuckin’ _wafting_ off of him like _steam_. He’d tried pulling away but Kise had kept him close. He’d kept him in that tight embrace and then very, _very_ subtly turned his face into the crook of Kazunari’s bare neck…

And then Kazunari had pulled away, _hard._

Their eyes met and for the briefest moment, Kise’s pupils had been dilated, _so_ fucking dilated that the gold irises had almost been mere outlines to the black centers of his eyes. And Kazunari shut down his allomone output more abruptly then he ever has before, letting out a sigh of relief when Kise blinked a few times and his eyes returned to normal.

“ _Uhm—wow. Takaocchi, has anyone told you that you smell, like, really good?_ ” he’d said, sounding slightly confused by his own question.

But Kazunari had just weakly laughed it off and rushed into the station, feeling sick to his stomach and aching absolutely everywhere. The entire ride home, he’d felt on the verge of tears with how much pain he was in, to the point where near the end he’d been really worried he might give in and just start _screaming_.

Now he’s on the literal home stretch and it’s bad. It’s really, _really_ bad.

And _fuck,_ if this stupid bag isn’t super heavy all of a sudden!

Luckily for him, no one appears to be around so he’d been able to ease up most of the control on his allomones a few blocks back. But… but not so lucky for him…

He’s feeling faint.

V- _very faint._

It’s a conscious, strenuous effort to keep his feet moving and he’s hot, he’s _so hot_ that there’s sweat dripping down his back, heavily staining the bottom of his shirt.

_Fuckin…_

_hell…_

_.._

_._

 

Black overtakes him for the briefest of moments—long enough for his heavy feet to trip over themselves and send him plummeting to the ground. It's actually the sensation of falling that snaps him back into consciousness with just enough time to outstretch his arms in an attempt to catch himself.

It ends up being of almost no use, aside from protecting his face, since the moment his body weight—and the additional weight of Hitomi’s clothes—bears down on his hands, his arms give out and the rest of him comes into intimate contact with the pavement.

 

_Shit… shit, I just passed out for a second…_

_Fuck. Fuck, I’m just two blocks from home… if I can just…_

_Just what? Could call Himuro… or my Clinic..._

 

His eyelids flutter as he tries to keep himself awake, trying not to get too comfortable with the feeling of cold sidewalk against his skin. The familiar self-loathing seeps in again as he imagines what happens after Himuro or Imayoshi gets involved.

_Ugh… Mom and Dad are gonna be so upset… damn it, I hope Mom doesn’t cry again…_

 

 

“ _Kazunari!_ ”

 

 

He’s so startled at hearing his name that he temporarily forgets he’s in pain.

 

_Are auditory hallucinations part of—_

 

 

“ _Kazunari!_ ”

 

 

This time his name is followed by the sound of running footfalls. What the hell?

He groans and tries to push himself up, his fatigued arms only succeeding in turning him onto his back.

_If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like—_

 

 

“ _Ka—Kazunari!_ ”

 

 

_Whoa._

 

_What… what the fuck._

 

_I’m not seriously… that’s not…_

 

“…Midorima?”

 

✦

 

Absolutely everything Shintarou had been thinking about, all of the rationalizing and the bitter acceptance, was thrown out the window the moment he saw Kazunari collapsed on the ground. It had happened so quickly—one second, he’d been on his feet and the next, he’d been a slumped form on the sidewalk. He’d rushed over and called his name, mind suddenly blank with worry. He _knew_ he looked sick on the train, he _knew it._ Then he’d felt a small wave of relief when he’d heard Kazunari groan as he rolled onto his back. He was conscious, thank god.

But that brings him to his current predicament and he has no idea how to proceed.

Shintarou knows to check if Kazunari can see straight. He knows to ask him if he’s alright, to gauge if he’s able to speak normally. He knows to speak loudly and clearly enough that Kazunari can hear and understand him. He does these things, taking note of how he struggles to keep his eyes focused and how his forehead is hot to the touch, even despite him being _significantly_ underdressed for the weather. These things don’t count. These things are just the most basic of first aid which is why he’s able to execute them efficiently, automatically. And thankfully, Kazunari seems to be fine. Weak, definitely sick in some way, dazed from the fall, probably unable to walk very steadily, but fine otherwise.

But as he helps Kazunari up, he starts panicking inside.

 

_Please…_

_**Please** _ _don’t ask me what I’m doing here._

 

“Can you stand on your own for a second?”

“Y… yeah, I think so,” he replies softly and Shintarou bends over to pick up Kazunari’s bag.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he hoists the bag onto his right shoulder. “I can call you a taxi to take you the rest of the way.”

Kazunari shakes his head lightly. “No, I’m just… headed home. It’s only two blocks from here.”

“Ah. Well—” “Could you—”

They both freeze and stare at each other.

“S-Sorry, what were you—” “Please, continu—”

They freeze again and Shintarou lets out a large, frustrated sigh before adjusting his glasses.

“You go first,” he insists. Kazunari purses his lips for a second before speaking again.

“C-could…” Kazunari looks down at his feet and his face seems to be turning a bit red. Probably from the fever he’s running. “I… I know things are… um, _weird_ between us…”

_Talk about an understatement…_

“But could you… walk me home?” Kazunari looks back up at Shintarou as soon as the question is out, cheeks red, eyebrows creased, eyes… vulnerable. “I… _Shit._ ” Kazunari covers his face with his hand and turns away. His hair covers the rest of his expression like a curtain. “N-never mind, y-you’ve already helped me back up and-and—”

“It’s fine.”

Kazunari whips his head back to him, shocked. Like he can’t believe what he’s just said. Shintarou can’t believe he’s said it either—not because he’d intended to leave Kazunari to fend for himself when he’s clearly unwell but because, for what seemed like the umpteenth time today, he hadn’t thought before acting… the words had just come out.

“You don’t have to—”

“Let’s go.” Shintarou extends his left arm out to Kazunari. He hesitates but then winces for the briefest of moments and grabs onto him.

“Thanks…”

Shintarou doesn’t say anything.

They walk in tense silence for two blocks. Occasionally the quiet is broken by a passing car or a slight wind but other than that there’s nothing to distract from this odd, _odd_ situation. Shintarou faintly thinks about how this is almost exactly how they’d walked back to his car from the caricaturist the last time they’d seen each other but he can’t bring himself to dwell on it. He can’t entertain the similarities not only because the current circumstances are so different but also because…

 

He’s _still_ panicking a little inside.

 

_Please don’t ask me what I’m doing here._

_Please,_ _**please** _ _don’t ask me what I’m doing here._

 

If he does ask, he’ll lie. He’ll _have to_ because there is no way he can admit that he followed Kazunari from midtown to… wher _ever_ the hell they are right now—everything has been so fuzzy and fucked up since he first caught sight of him from inside that restaurant. Honestly, if he had to name the stops or estimate how long he’d spent on the train, he couldn’t do it. The only thing that has been clear since he started this wild chase, really and _truly_ clear, is the desire to reach Kazunari.

But there’s no explaining all of that to someone who you’ve just literally stalked across the city.

“This is me.”

They come to a stop outside of a modest apartment building, looking to be somewhere around five or six floors.

“Are you on the ground level?”

“No, second floor.”

“…I’ll walk you up.”

“Th-thanks…”

 

✧

 

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, holy fucking shit_ — _ **fuck!** _

The string of profanities scrolling through Kazunari’s mind has only intensified in the last few minutes.

It had taken him a full minute after Midorima had come into view above him to realize it was _actually_ happening and that he wasn’t just cooking up some random white knight fantasy in the last moments of delirium before passing out again. His brow had been all knit and his eyes had been so unguarded, so open with concern—he’d looked _really_ beautiful in that moment, actually… It’s the most emotive he’s ever seen him.

But nope. It definitely happened and Midorima is _actually_ here in the _freaking_ flesh somehow.

There are so many things to consider. How random, how _shockingly random_ it is that Midorima just happened to be walking around his neighborhood at the exact time he’d fainted. The way he’d left his apartment all those weeks ago, making a break for it and slamming the door behind him. The way Midorima had looked at him when he’d called his name in confusion that morning. The way he’d looked at him throughout their date. The way he’d looked at him while making sure he could follow his finger with his eyes just a few moments ago and how he’d looked at him when he’d checked his temperature. How he owes him an apology—a big one. Whether or not he’d be lucky enough for Midorima to accept his apology. And would he be able to do the right thing if Midorima wanted to pick up where they left off?

All of those things have been on his mind as they’ve walked to his place. …Sort of. Mostly his thought process has consisted of,

 _Fucking_ _**hell** _ _my body hurts!!_

 _Why did he have to show up_ _**now!?** _

_I-I can’t keep my allomones in for much longer—_ _**shit!** _

_It fuckin’ feels like my_ _**soul** _ _is being ripped to shreds!!_

_I wanna fuck him._

_I_ _**need** _ _to fuck him._

_**I need to get him to fuck me right now—!** _

 

“Which one is your door?”

 

“Oh.”

 

 _Oh, thank FUCK_ , he thinks, almost wanting to _cry_ in relief now that they’ve finally reached his apartment.

“Th-this one.” He gestures at and walks over to apartment 2-C. “You can just—it’s not that heavy, I can bring it in.”

“Right.” Midorima nods then, gently placing the bag of clothes in front of the door. Kazunari fumbles with his keys, his fingers trembling and his mind frazzled, feeling physically weak and emotionally conflicted. It’s seriously like his body is screaming at him ‘ _what are you DOING, there’s a human RIGHT THERE!_ ’ while the small semblance of self-control he has left is just desperately trying to put this door between him and Midorima as quickly as possible.

Because he can’t. He can’t, he really, _really_ can’t.

 

Not after he almost died last time.

 

 _Though he_ was _fine in the morning._

_No—no, no, NO._

 

He gets the door open and kicks the duffel bag inside, letting out a stuttered sigh of relief before turning to face Midorima again.

“Thanks. I-I mean… thank you. For… everything.”

Midorima just stares at him and for a moment Kazunari’s worried he _is_ being affected by his allomones until he sees that his eyes appear normal. Instead, it looks like he has something to say.

“Kazunari…”

“Yeah…?”

It takes him a second but he realizes Midorima’s trying to urge him to keep speaking. And he’s aching all over and having a hard time standing and very worried his allomones will slip but he endures. He owes him that much.

“Midorima… I know I… left things unfinished between us. I-I know.”

Kazunari sighs shakily and leans against the doorframe. He lifts a nervous hand to comb through his hair, unable to bring himself to meet Midorima’s eyes.

“I… I can’t really get into why but I had my reasons—”

Midorima scoffs. Actually _scoffs._ He’s been avoiding making eye contact since he began speaking but he has to see Midorima’s face now.

And it breaks his heart.

This is the second most emotive he’s ever seen him and he looks like he might cry.

“M-Midorima, I—” Kazunari begins, instinctively reaching out to him before thinking better of it and pulling his hand back.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he spits back through gritted teeth. “Say your piece.”

Kazunari gulps. This is… this is definitely about to be the end. Ugly sadness bubbles up inside him and he casts his eyes downward.

“It has nothing, _nothing_ to do with you. It’s all personal stuff… I just can’t tell—”

“I don’t _care_ that you can’t tell me why!”

Taken aback by that, Kazunari glances up again. Midorima still looks upset but there’s… a lot more anger in his expression than he expected. His breathing’s even picked up and it’s clear he’s holding himself back.

“I don’t even care that you don’t want to be with me—”

“Mido—”

“Just _stop_ it.” Midorima’s finally broken eye contact himself now. His hands are balled into fists and he’s staring at the floor. “I simply thought… _you_ made me feel…” His hands relax and he pushes his glasses up his nose, regaining his composure but losing some of his fire. “It would be one thing if it had just been physical, but… for you to just disappear and begin avoiding me like that…”

Kazunari’s heart catches in his throat at the look Midorima shoots him then.

“I thought I at least warranted a proper farewell.”

“You-you did! You do! Of course, you do!”

“I don’t know what it is that you are looking for, Kazunari…”

_I’m not looking._

“…but I thought we had a connection.”

_I already found it._

“I only wish you’d brought things to an end before I came to that misunderstanding.”

But he can’t say those things. He can’t say those things because it can never happen. It’s unsustainable.

Midorima turns away.

“W-wait! Midorima, don’t go!”

Panic swells in him at the sight of Midorima’s back and Kazunari grabs him—

 

…

 

Ah, fuck, he’s done it now.

 

He tries to tell himself to let go, to pull away from the warm feel of Midorima’s palm in his hand, but his body won’t listen. His body’s fed up with listening to him—it’s been doing that for three weeks with nothing to show for it. As he tries to let go of Midorima’s hand, he just ends up pulling at it, pressing his fingers in between his. The longer, elegant fingers are stubborn against his own, refusing to part for him… and Kazunari is _truly_ a fuck-up because it is undoubtedly his _personal_ desire to make this man stay that makes him gently rub his thumb against the center of Midorima’s palm.

“It isn’t like that. I promise.” Kazunari eases up the pressure against Midorima’s fingers. “ _This_ is a misunderstanding. Of course I…” He takes a deep breath, already regretting his words and how much they are about to complicate his life. “Of _course_ I like you. I just… there are _things_ that would make _us_ a really, _really_ complex thing to pursue.” He bites his lip. “And… I’m worried I’d end up hurting you. …I already have.”

Midorima turns to face him finally, already looking much more composed than he did mere moments ago. The vulnerability in his eyes, though… that’s still very much there.

“We’re both adults, Kazunari. I’m fully capable of making my own decisions… that includes taking risks. ”

He looks down, shakes his head, and squeezes Midorima’s hand, his brow creasing with worry.

“I know but—” _This isn’t going to end well. You have no idea what kind of risk you're thinking of taking.  
_

 

Midorima lets go of his hand then… but only to readjust it as he pushes _his_ fingers between Kazunari’s this time.

 

“M-Midorima…” He tries to say it with a warning tone but he knows it’s hopeless.

 

“Kazunari.”

 

Midorima lifts the bottom of Takao’s chin up with the crook of one of those graceful fingers he’s come to admire, forcing them to look one another in the eye.

 

Their eyes only meet for a second before their lips follow.

 

_Ahh, Kazunari… Takao Kazunari, you fucked up._

 

It’s the faintest of thoughts in the back of his mind as he loses himself to the kiss, Midorima’s arms enveloping either side of his waist as he pulls himself up to his toes to kiss him deeper. He’s originally thinking he’s fucked up in reference to the implausibility of this ‘relationship’ he’s kickstarted against all good judgment—because really, even though his heart is fluttering and rejoicing now, there’s still an undeniable sinking feeling. He then comes to realize he’s fucked up for _two_ reasons.

 

It takes about four seconds for his allomones to _explode._

 

“M _mph—shit!_ ” Kazunari yelps, pushing Midorima away. He panics briefly, realizing that by pushing him back in the wake of this particular discussion he may have just discredited everything he just said. He’s at least expecting him to ask what’s wrong. …Until he looks at his face and sees the pupils of Midorima’s eyes rapidly dilating.

Kazunari shakes his head to try to clear his own thoughts and focus on getting some of his output under control. It works a little, enough for Midorima’s pupils to shrink down a bit closer to their normal size, but nowhere near as much as he’d hoped it would as evidenced by Midorima leaning in to kiss him again, _hard._

The worst part about this is that it’s _him_ , it’s _Midorima_ of all goddamn people—if it were an acquaintance or Kise or _anyone else_ , he’d have a lot less of a problem rebuffing them _even_ though he’s starving. But since it’s not some random dude, since it’s a 6’5 emerald-haired Adonis with glasses, an anatomy degree, and a grumpy disposition that hides a shockingly soft center—it’s fucking _impossible._ What Kazunari _needs_ to say right now is something along the lines of ‘ _I’m so glad we talked this out but let’s take things slow and meet up some time next week_ ’ but what comes out instead is a low moan when Midorima shoves his tongue in his mouth and picks him up by the ass, followed by a breathy,

“Bed… Take me to bed…”

God _damn_ his demonic instincts.

Kazunari deepens the kiss even further from his temporarily higher vantage point (for the first time truly appreciating that his otherwise unimpressive studio apartment has such a high ceiling) and Midorima takes the first staggering steps inside, swiftly shutting the front door behind them.

“Ah—the bag,” Kazunari warns, suddenly remembering that he’d just kicked the bag of clothes past the doorway pretty carelessly, but Midorima doesn’t even respond—he just continues kissing Kazunari and casually steps over it, like he’d anticipated and scoped out how to avoid it as an obstacle.

Is this really the same blushing virgin he met back in November…?

Already Kazunari’s getting bored with being higher than Midorima. Normally, he’d probably relish in something like that, probably use the position to tease him a bit, make him chase after kisses, tug back on his hair if he got ‘too’ aggressive.

 

But right now? After three solid weeks of hunger pains?

 

Like _fucking hell._

 

All of the tongue wrestling and groping has awoken the beast in him and he’s not even thinking about how he shouldn’t be doing this or about the potential consequences this could have on their relationship anymore. At this very moment, he is a man dying of dehydration finally presented with an oasis. He’s got one thing on his mind.

 

Fucking Midorima’s brains out.

 

✧✦

 

Takao taps against Midorima’s arms where he’s supporting him and the taller man takes his cue. Their lips don’t part as he carefully lowers Kazunari back to his feet and they kiss deeply for a few more seconds before Takao marches over to the bed. Under normal circumstances, he’d be more than a little embarrassed by the state of things—his bed is unmade and he’d been in the middle of sorting laundry instead of sleeping earlier last night, not to even mention the state of the rest of his apartment. He’s been perpetually single for the last three years and never, _ever_ feeds at home so while it isn’t _dirty_ , it’s definitely a _mess_.

These are hardly normal circumstances, though, and it takes him about five seconds to clear his bed of clothes, magazines, and whatever the hell else there is—he literally just shoves it all to the floor.

“Sit.” It’s an order and he punctuates it by pointing at the side of the bed. Midorima doesn’t hesitate to do exactly as Kazunari says and he does faintly wonder how much of that is allomones, how much of that is eagerness, and how much is _charm_ because he’s probably using some without even realizing, he’s _that_ desperate to feed. The pain hasn’t left him just yet, after all; it’s still coming in waves, his muscles are still aching, his stomach is churning, he’s still overheated—and he can’t wait to be rid of it.

Shintarou can’t put his finger on it but something… something possibly indescribable has changed about the air between them—it is positively _electric_ and everything is a haze with the singular, clear as day exception of Kazunari: his eyes, his body, his voice. The moment Shintarou’s butt hits the mattress, Kazunari kneels in front of him, pushes his legs apart, and hastily begins undoing his belt.

 _God_ but this is happening quickly. Shintarou thinks to say as much but finds that the words are caught somewhere in his throat. Instead, he ends up pulling his coat off. As he moves to remove his shirt next, he sucks in a sharp breath when Kazunari doesn’t bother to pull his pants down all the way and instead reaches into the hole at the front of his boxers.

“Kazunari…”

On hearing his name, Takao realizes he’s sort of functioning on something close to auto-pilot right now. He glances up at Midorima who’s looking down at him with a swathe of red dusted across his cheeks and those partly dilated pupils. He pauses for a moment, eyes intently searching Midorima’s face for an indication that he wants to stop, that this isn’t what he wants, too… but when he doesn’t find one, he smirks, gets a firm grip on Midorima’s cock, and begins stroking. His smirk only grows wider as he watches Midorima’s eyes flutter closed and he jacks him off steadily, even breathing softly against the dick in his hand to encourage it out of its still thick, but currently soft state. The entire time, he watches the man above him. It’s impossible to tear his eyes away from his face despite the enticing package in his hand, growing harder and harder with each of his strokes. Before he knows it, Midorima’s dick is standing to attention before him.

Shintarou’s eyes dart open when the tip of his cock is assaulted by the wet, hot, textured sensation of Kazunari’s tongue. The sight that greets him when he looks down at his lap makes him groan out loud—Kazunari, slate eyes boring into him as he cradles the tip of his penis in his mouth. Kazunari’s tongue swirls around his glans and Shintarou lets out another groan when he goes from just circling it to applying the slightest bit of suction. He then pulls him out of his mouth, holding his tip right at his tongue as he laps at it again and again, causing Shintarou to reflexively screw his eyes shut again and throw his head back. He grabs hold of the edge of the mattress for dear life.

_And he hasn’t even started with the rest of it yet…_

Takao’s brain shuts down and his own eyes flutter closed for just a moment at the sound of Midorima swearing under his breath— _music_ to his ears. And a perfect signal for him to take things up a notch. He licks his lips lightly and his mouth literally waters at the prospect of actually getting to fit Midorima’s entire dick in his mouth.

 _He’ll fuckin’_ love _this._

He holds Midorima steady at the base and presses the head of his cock against his lips, using that pressure to forcibly part his mouth open instead of simply opening wide. Kazunari bobs his head down and then up, repeating the movement as he gradually lowers his mouth over more and more of Midorima’s shaft, keeping his eyes closed to better focus on the way Midorima’s exhalations become more emphatic the further down he gets. Finally, Midorima’s head nudges at the back of his throat and then he begins swallowing his cock down in earnest.

If his mouth weren’t so thoroughly stuffed right now, he’d be stifling a laugh at the sound Midorima makes when that happens. Being what he is has its perks, after all—two of them being not needing much oxygen and having no gag reflex whatsoever.

 

Now he can start blowing him _for real._

 

Shintarou can hardly believe what he’s seeing let alone process it. He’s never thought of his… _size_ as anything other than a physical attribute he happens to possess; as in, he’s known for a long time that his penis is larger than average but it just hasn’t mattered to him very much. That being said, however, he really, _really_ didn’t expect to ever see anyone just… _devour_ his dick like _this_ —it takes Kazunari fucking _seconds_ to get all of his cock down his throat. The pressure is unbelievably sweet, the sensation of Kazunari's throat around him making his toes curl. Kazunari swallows around him before pulling his head back, letting out a wet moan as he does. As he brings himself down again, his eyes open slightly to reveal a bleary, unfocused gaze. Their eyes meet again just as Kazunari’s lips manage to kiss his groin and Kazunari moans _again_ —Shintarou groans but then his breath catches in his throat and he very suddenly, and somewhat clumsily, adjusts the hand covering his mouth to cover his nose, too. He shuts his eyes to cut off _some_ of the stimulation because, for god’s sake, he can tell he’s _this_ close to a nosebleed.

The way Kazunari’s throat feels is already incredible but then he picks up the pace and Shintarou is rendered _speechless_. While it’s not as if he’s been speaking at all, he is now at the point where he could not possibly string a sentence together if his life depended on it. The searing clench of Kazunari’s throat cradling his tip, the lusty look on Kazunari’s face, the tight glide of Kazunari’s mouth over and over again… and the sounds. Fucking hell, the _sounds_ —a heady blend of wet, muffled moans and outright _slurp_ ing noises.

Takao can tell Midorima’s about to come from the satisfying sight of his long fingers digging into the edge of the bed and the way his cock feels like fucking steel in his throat. He’s been a little preoccupied with sucking dick to really assess the situation but he suddenly realizes that if Midorima comes _now_ , Kazunari will only be able to feed _now_ , and then Midorima will pass out.

Shit. Oh, shit. That’s a problem.

Whatever amount of life force he’s going to absorb through giving a blowjob isn’t going to be enough—not when he’s this starved. And yet despite knowing that, somehow he’s managed to get carried away enough to have Midorima seconds away from going off in his mouth. Fortunately for him, Takao has always been good at multitasking.

And strategizing with a dick in his mouth is a skill he’s mastered over the years.

Without warning, Kazunari pulls himself off of Shintarou. Just his throat and then his mouth pulling off of him is intense enough but he’s so sensitive at this point that even the transition from wet heat to open air causes him to gasp. Granting him absolutely no respite, Kazunari immediately returns to stroking him rapidly. Shintarou’s chest heaves as his breathing picks up. His eyes meet with Kazunari’s again and Kazunari adjusts his grip on his cock, pointing it… pointing it towards… _he can’t seriously want him to…_

Unable to raise any questions because that would require his speech faculties to be in working order, Midorima is instead struck by the mental image of Kazunari’s face plastered in dripping white; and that is instantly followed by an urgent, tingling surge in his testicles—

“Not yet,” Kazunari breathes.

Just as he’s sure Midorima’s about to pop, Takao precisely laces the thumb and index finger of his free hand around the base of his dick. Above him, Midorima lets out a strained grunt but Takao keeps focused on what’s happening at eye-level, relentless still in his stroking efforts. Midorima’s hips jerk upwards harshly but Kazunari keeps his grip tight around his base, effectively cutting off any ejaculation and, just as he’d hoped, Midorima cums regardless. It’s a dry orgasm, probably Midorima’s first judging by the hoarse gasps coming from above, and the pull of life force from Midorima’s person becomes far smoother than it was just a few seconds ago.

Takao almost feels bad for Midorima’s dick—it grows even harder in the caress of his hand, twitches, even turns a shade of red…

“It’s blushing…” he comments with a light, teasing smirk. Midorima lets out a helpless sound in response, a hint of embarrassed disapproval hidden in the tone of his wordless gasping. Takao sighs hard and shuts his eyes as he takes in the flow of energy, the hand he was once using to jerk him off now flat and outstretched against Midorima’s skin wherever he can reach it; his thigh, his hip, his abdomen. It isn’t as fulfilling as feeding with their bare bodies pressed against each other, but he still revels in the feeling of Midorima’s muscles spasming through his climax.

As Midorima finally comes down, the precious stream of life force turns back into a trickle and, unthinking, desperate to go back to his pain being relieved ever so slightly, Kazunari brings Midorima’s tip back into his mouth. He keeps it there, licking and suckling at it while the slit gives small, futile flexes, trying to prolong the orgasm and get the good stuff flowing freely again. Midorima goes from panting slowly to panting hard again until finally Kazunari feels a large hand grasping him by the hair and yanking him away. His eyes shoot open in surprise.

Shintarou’s panting hoarsely, his vision still a little white and fuzzy at the edges from the absolute onslaught of pleasure Kazunari has just subjected him to. Apparently confused for some reason, Kazunari just blinks up at him, his gaze muddled like he doesn’t understand why he’s been pulled away.

And oddly enough, right before one of the last blinks, it almost looks like Kazunari’s eyes flicker into a different color. Like… an amber.

…He had no idea it was possible to come so hard you hallucinate a little.

Shintarou lets out a heavy sigh and tosses his head back, letting Kazunari’s hair go in the process.

“Too… too much.”

“Sorry…” Takao mumbles, releasing his death grip on Midorima’s cock, still feeling a little dazed. He looks at Midorima again, though, and is relieved (and honestly shocked) to realize his half-assed plan has seemingly worked: Midorima is still conscious and still hard. The relief is interrupted by some of the dulled pain in his bones reawakening, throbbing once as a sharp pain before returning to a dull undercurrent of soreness. He sighs and brings himself to his feet.

“Take off your clothes.” Kazunari says it as an order, in the same way he’d told Shintarou to sit earlier. It’s strange seeing Kazunari be almost _serious_ about sex. Shintarou realizes he’s grown accustomed to his playful commentary and teasing smiles throughout and can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason for him acting so differently… or if he’s overanalyzing things. Whatever the case is, Shintarou follows his instructions as soon as their issued to him because Kazunari begins peeling his clothes off, as well.

No, Shintarou is certain he’s more serious than usual. Every time that he can remember Kazunari undressing, he’s done so slowly, provocatively; used it as a way to tease and entice Shintarou even more. Just now he’d pulled his clothes off without any ceremony whatsoever.

“Lie down.”

Lie… wait a minute.

“Kazunari. You just _fainted._ You shouldn’t overwork yourself—”

“I’m fine.”

“Kazunari—”

“ _I’m fine._ ” Kazunari doesn’t really snap at him but there’s a definite tone of finality there—a tone that says he wants Shintarou to drop it. He doesn’t budge. When their eyes meet, Kazunari gives him a soft smile. He walks in closer, now totally nude before him, and it’s a struggle for Shintarou to keep his eyes on his face instead of letting them roam elsewhere. Kazunari reaches up and cradles Shintarou’s face in his hands. “I appreciate the concern. Really. But please trust me when I say I can handle it.” Shintarou’s still feeling unsure when Kazunari adds, with one of those naughty smirks he’d been missing, “Besides, that didn’t stop you from letting me swallow your dick for the last five minutes, did it?”

Shintarou turns a _bright_ crimson at that and purses his lips in defiance. However it… _is_ a somewhat fair point. After a moment of silent contemplation, Shintarou raises a hand to touch one of Kazunari’s. He nods and situates himself in the middle of the bed. Kazunari licks his lips as his smirk widens and he watches Shintarou for a moment before reaching into the nearby nightstand and pulling out a small bottle of lubricant. Kazunari follows him onto the bed and straddles his lap before kissing him, hard and open-mouthed. Every bit of Takao’s mouth tastes foreign, tastes like _Shintarou_ he realizes, like his dick has just finished laying claim to it.

The more they kiss, the more they press into each other, the heat in their general vicinity feeling like it’s gone up several degrees. Midorima’s hands wander and grope at Takao, far more exploratory than any time prior to this, even downright _possessive_ at times. Kazunari finds himself more and more desperate to get to the main act and he can’t remember a time he’s ever lubed himself up this quickly. It takes no time at all to get two, then three lubed up fingers inside of him. When Takao finally does let up on the kissing, it’s to keep himself still as he finally aligns Midorima’s cock with his entrance.

“ _Unh…_ ” Kazunari moans as he lowers his hips, his hole beginning to take his lover in. “ _Fuck_ , Midorima…”

Shintarou moans in turn and wraps his arms around Kazunari, one hand firmly on his ass and the other pressing him down at the back, bringing him close to resume their kissing. To his surprise, though, Kazunari outstretches an arm and holds him down at the chest.

“ _Don’t,_ ” Kazunari mutters so softly, it’s almost a whisper. He pushes down further onto Shintarou’s cock and his eyes flutter shut, his lips parted.

“K..Kazunari?”

“ _Don’t move…_ ” he says. Shintarou obeys, despite his misgivings about this sudden turn. It’s not as if it’s the worst command ever; to lie there and take it as Kazunari’s lithe, toned body sinks down onto him, his most intimate of areas hot, velvety, and clenching around him as he does.

But then he’s startled.

“Wh-what—is something wrong??” Shintarou completely disregards his instructions to lie still and sits up rapidly.

Takao gives a small smile and chuckles. He casually wipes the tear that managed to escape his eye off of his cheek with the palm of his hand. He’d been so overwhelmed by the relief, by the… _peace_ in his first moment of pain-free existence in three weeks… he’d actually cried a little.

“Whoops,” he says, letting out a light laugh. This does nothing for the concern on Midorima’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, his worry surprisingly obvious in his expression. Maybe he's let his guard down because he just came?

“Nothing, I’m fine. I’m fine, just—” Kazunari leans over and kisses Shintarou deeply, all-consuming, before parting and leaning into his neck, lips just barely brushing against the skin there. He whispers, “Just… _thank you._ ” Then Kazunari grants him a soft bite on his earlobe and a hot, breathy chuckle against his neck.

The first few minutes of sex are slow and tender, the two men focusing on kissing each other senseless with the actual thrust and grind of things somehow becoming a second priority. Kazunari uses his position to control the way they kiss, his lips pressing teasingly against Shintarou’s as he rides him at a languid pace. Or rather, he does up until Shintarou brings a hand to Kazunari’s nape, fingers sensuously finding their way into the dark strands of his hair as he pulls Kazunari further down to him. Kazunari lets out a short, muffled sound at that and Shintarou can’t help but be the one who smirks into their kiss this time. There’s just _something_ about managing to surprise Kazunari that _thrills him._

Takao moans into Midorima’s mouth when the latter delivers a sudden thrust upward and holds onto him a little tighter, dragging his fingers against Kazunari’s skin as he pulls him in closer with just enough pressure to actually cause him to gasp—Midorima takes it as an opportunity to push his tongue in further. Feeling it’s only fair that he get to touch him as much as he’s being touched, Kazunari sneaks his own hand into Midorima’s hair and the other hand plays along his broad chest, even seeking out and playing with a nipple. While that does elicit a response in the form of a sharp intake of breath, it’s no use. Suddenly, the tables have turned and it’s Midorima— _Midorima??_ —controlling the way their lips lock, touching Takao in ways that cause him to shudder and sigh, ways that make it impossible not to writhe further into him and… and _submit_.

“M- _More_ , _fuck_ …” he says, panting the words into Midorima’s ear. He grasps at Midorima’s hand, the one not wrapped up in his hair, and firmly brings it in between them where Kazunari’s untended to member is rock hard and positively weeping precum. Midorima doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around him and begins pumping. After an enthusiastic moan, Kazunari whimpers, “ _Yes, yes…_ ”

Shintarou accepts Kazunari’s positive reactions to his small grabs for dominance, if they can even be called that, and bucks into him from below. The fingers Kazunari has in his hair tense when he does, causing a tightness followed by a tingle in his scalp that has no right feeling as satisfying as it does. But more importantly, Kazunari’s voice catches as he moans and that encourages him to repeat the motion. Again and again, Shintarou thrusts his hips into Kazunari, all the while making sure to lavish his cock with as much attention as he’s granting his asshole with at the moment. It takes longer than he'd like to get the timing of his hips matched to the timing of his strokes but a shiver runs down his spine at the string of expletives that rushes past Kazunari’s lips and directly against his own once he’s gotten it down. It’s almost funny—he’s already very close to coming (especially since he’d been subjected to that interrupted orgasm, _which_ —he’ll have to properly address _that_ later), but somehow Kazunari is _closer._ He can tell.

“A-ahhh… _shit…_ ”

“Kazunari…”

“F-fuck… so.. _hot…!_ ”

Takao can’t believe he’s about to come first.

When was the last time he came _first_ during a _feeding?_ And worse yet he can tell that Midorima knows. It might be impossible not to figure it out with how he can’t control his voice from pouring out each time Midorima glides into him to the hilt or with how much of a wet, sticky mess he’s making in Midorima’s hand right now. But… b-but still, this is borderline embarrassing. He still has some semblance of pride as a hunter, as someone who _normally_ has far more endurance than this. Desperate to bring their climaxes closer to each other, Takao pulls back from their kissing for the first time in ages. Keeping his eyes fixed directly onto Midorima’s he takes in a heated breath.

“I’m gonna cum.”

Shintarou’s eyes widen a little in surprise at this abrupt announcement but then he just increases the pace, both his hand and his hips redoubling their efforts to bring Kazunari closer to release. Kazunari’s mouth opens and he tosses his head back briefly as his breathing comes harder, now beginning to move himself.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re gonna make me cum!” Kazunari bites his bottom lip as he returns his gaze to Shintarou’s face. His brow is knit. The look in his eyes is pleading. Though if that weren’t enough of a ‘please fuck me’ face, the way he’s gone from letting Shintarou plow up into him to actively fucking him back makes his desires clear. Each time he drives his cock into the marvelously hot, tight embrace that is Kazunari’s ass, Kazunari grinds against his lap. Each time he pulls back, Midorima lets out a hoarse breath as Kazunari’s slick hole clings to every inch of him. Kazunari places his hands on Shintarou’s chest to support himself and his eyes look even more overcome with pleasure. “I can feel you… _fuck.._ making me even— _nh!_ Wetter inside… _Please_ tell me you’re gonna cum inside me…!”

Oh god. Shintarou hadn’t even realized they’d forgone the condom this time. A seedling of worry sprouts in the back of his mind at this revelation but is pushed to the side and overtaken almost instantly by the overwhelming _arousal_ that washes over him. He grunts involuntarily, forcing himself to string a sentence together despite how dumb he is with lust right now.

“Do— _uhn_ —do you want me to?” he somehow asks. When Kazunari bites his lip and nods fervently, Shintarou’s blush extends all the way to his collarbone. That causes Kazunari to smirk at him so he quickly brings his hand back to his cock and begins stroking him—this time with brutal efficiency.

“Fuck, _fuck!_ ” Kazunari screams. His fingers dig into Shintarou’s chest, the nails sure to leave lines of red behind on his fair skin. “Harder, Midorima! _Fuck_ yes, _harder!_ ” Kazunari’s bouncing becomes even more intense and his nails dig in even deeper as his eyes roll back and close. Shintarou obeys him.

“Are you close?” he asks, feeling ready to explode himself. He can feel his aborted payload from earlier surging back into his dick, he knows he only has a few thrusts left before he comes—shit, it might be even sooner than that as he remembers he’ll be cumming _inside him._

“ _I’m close!_ ” Takao pants heavily, his brain shutting down as he feels the pull on Midorima’s life force loosen significantly. That combined with the feeling of Midorima’s already large cock swelling even larger, caressing his insides, drives him over the edge.

Over the edge?

“ _Oh,_ _ **shit**_ _—!_ ”

He’s fucking cumming! _First!_

He’d probably be laughing if his mind hadn’t gone blank with how _intense_ it is _._

Shintarou swallows hard and watches with rapt attention as Kazunari cries out, letting out moans that are long, raw, and loud as _fuck_ , and utterly creams himself, messily shooting his spunk all over his stomach, even shooting as far as his chest, and of course all over his hand. Shintarou screws his eyes shut as he begins to come at last. Kazunari sucks him in even more, greedily wringing him for all he’s worth and sure enough it works—a huge surge of cum rushes up his cock straight into Kazunari’s welcoming hole. Shintarou groans in ecstasy, genuinely shocked at how much _hotter_ coming inside like this really is. Just knowing that his semen is painting the inside of Kazunari, claiming him in this deeply intimate place…

But god _damn,_ he is _immediately_ exhausted.

 

✧

 

Kazunari’s chest heaves as he absorbs his final helping of life force, his head thrown back and his eyes closed in serenity. He shifts, pulling himself out of Midorima’s lap until his now soft cock slides out of him—and barely suppresses a whimper at the sensation of warm liquid obeying the law of gravity and beginning to trickle down his thigh. There’s a lot of it, too…

As the intensity of his orgasm and his feeding begins to wash away, Takao takes in a gulp of air before letting out a long, fulfilled sigh. He takes the time to bask in all the little things he loves after an intense round of sex… the way his body at long last feels calm, comfortable, _normal_ ; the floaty, well-fucked haze that follows a satisfying orgasm; the sweat he’s generated dripping down his back and chest. He’s honestly pretty impressed with how much heat the two of them managed to produce in the midst of chilly weather—and the heater being off.

Once he’s finally gathered his breath, he lowers his head. He gazes down at Midorima, sated but mystified.

 

Just what in the hell was he thinking doing this again.

For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even remember to take Midorima’s glasses off.

 

Self-loathing wells up inside and Kazunari internally chides himself for putting Midorima in danger again. The feeling doesn’t stick, though… or rather it seems insignificant in comparison to the arrival of a different feeling. Several feelings, really.

There’s relief at the sight of Midorima’s eyes gently closed, skin still flushed, his chest rising and falling at a regular pace.

There’s fondness, too. That feeling manages to even creep onto Kazunari’s facial features as he fails to hold back a small smirk. The more he stares at Midorima’s unconscious, blissed out form beneath him, the more he admires him.

And it’s just as Midorima said earlier—it isn’t just physical.

Kazunari brushes Midorima’s bangs back for him as they’ve matted against the sweat on his forehead a bit. His fingertips graze against the skin there as he does and, taking great care not to scratch him with the sharp points of his nails (something he’d failed to do with his chest just a few minutes ago). He reaches his other hand up to comb through his own hair and is surprised when he strikes something hard at the top of his forehead.

 _Fuck, I came so hard my_ _**horns** _ _popped out…_

He can’t even remember the last time that happened.

His fingers rest where Midorima’s jaw meets his neck and he pauses there briefly before continuing. He allows his claws to very lightly brush against Midorima’s skin on occasion… by the time he’s tracing along his chest, he allows them to press in just a little bit, simply interested in watching the way Midorima’s ivory skin goes even paler before light red briefly rises to the surface, followed by a beautiful stain of scarlet.

Midorima just keeps on dozing, looking serene and elegant, distinguished and…

Prince-like might be the right word.

Kazunari huffs out a soft laugh to himself.

‘Prince-like.’

 _Damn_ , has he caught feelings.

Of course, he knew he liked Midorima months ago but these emotions swelling in his chest just at the sight of his sleeping face?

All this affection… this sense of calm… the inability to separate from him or even just look away…

 

Fuck, man.

 

Kazunari lets out a short sigh, deciding he’s resigned to this—these miserable circumstances of having fallen for a human.

_He’ll probably be just fine in the morning, like last time… I shouldn’t sleep over—shit. SHIT, we’re at MY PLACE._

Internally cursing himself, Kazunari knows he’ll have to find _some_ way to end this… _whatever_ this is becoming. There’s just no way… _no way_ it could work.

…Right?

There’s no realistic way for a human and a Type 4 incubus to be together… right?

It never happens.

…But could there be an exception?

Could _they_ be that exception?

Kazunari leans over, then hesitates. What is he _thinking?_ He’d almost just kissed this sleeping beauty but… why? What good would that do? They aren’t together, no matter what sort of false promises he’d hinted at earlier. It would only make him that much more attached. And yet, he kind of can’t help himself. Not after just having the most emotionally satisfying sex in years. Not while he’s thinking all of these stupid, irresponsible, soft thoughts about what the two of them _could_ be. If he were human. Hell, even if he was any other feeding type. Or if Midorima were a demon like him… if the distinctions between them didn’t exist at all. He really can’t help himself… not when Midorima’s under him with his eyes shut, lustrous eyelashes laid beautifully against his cheeks. He pulls away for just a moment but then immediately goes in for the kiss anyway. It’s a tender kiss, soft but then firm as he imagines the impossible…

 

 

Midorima reaches up, caresses his neck, and kisses him back.

 

 

And Kazunari nearly has a _fucking heart attack_.

 

 

He jerks his head back at breakneck speed.

 

 

Midorima opens his eyes to see...

 

 

 

Horns.

 

 

There appear to be two small, black horns sprouting from the top of Kazunari’s forehead, each one about two inches long and with a slight curve to them ending in a point.

They almost look sharp.

And they appear… thick. Ridged. As if they are made of organic material.

_Real._

 

…Which is _absolutely preposterous._

 

He’s about to open his mouth and ask for an explanation to why Kazunari has suddenly donned… presumably, some sort of headband with _horns_ attached to it but—

 

“F- _fuck!_ You _scared_ me!”

 

But he finds himself a _little_ distracted with the sudden realization that… Kazunari’s _entire appearance_ has _changed_.

 

Takao can practically hear the gears turning in Midorima’s head as he gapes at him.

 

“I- _I_ scared _you??”_ Midorima finally sputters out. He sits up, supporting himself on his elbows. _“_ What is with that— _why_ are you wearing— _when did you even_ —!?”

 

“W-When did I wha—”

 

Oh.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh. God.

 

He’d been so shocked by Midorima’s state of consciousness…

 

Kazunari brings a trembling hand into view. His heart sinks as he realizes.

 

 

 

He’s still in his demonic form.

 

 

Of _course_ he’s still in his demonic form.

 

 

He’s been caught.

 

 

Exposed.

 

 

He freezes. He can’t move, can’t speak. He doesn’t even breathe.

 

 

All he can do is stare back at the human who’s discovered his true nature.

 

 

Meanwhile, Shintarou is totally and utterly _lost._ Kazunari is straddling his lap, wearing… a _costume_ for some reason.

 

Where he’s grown accustomed to seeing normal nails, clean simply by the virtue of being cut so short, there are now thick, talon-like appendages protruding from his fingers, dark in color and clutched over his chest as he catches his breath. His ears are different now, just slightly pointed at the top. The skin tone matches so perfectly, they almost don’t look like prosthetics.

 

But what captivates Shintarou the most, what is ultimately the most obvious and incredible change of them all… are Kazunari’s eyes. Shintarou has seen color contacts before and yet he has never seen anything even approaching this level of… what? Authenticity? Realism? Despite the fact that Kazunari’s eyes have gone from a silvery grey to a shocking bright orange, these lenses don’t look like part of a costume. He’s read up on color contact lenses in a fit of random curiosity before and he knows that the reason they don’t ever look quite right is that they are inanimate, basically perfect—the pupils don’t dilate, the irises have a definitive pattern and are identical to one another.

 

But these eyes… the orange orbs are so vibrant they almost seem to glow; and yet in spite of that, there is a responsiveness and depth to them, a quiver of anxiety and shock that completely matches the look on their owner’s face. They just don’t seem like ordinary colored lenses, especially of the cheap cosplay variety. They’re too… intricate. Beautiful, even.

 

They, more than anything else Kazunari is wearing, look absolutely real.

 

But it’s a demon costume, right? It obviously is, it _must be_ , but he has no idea _why_ Kazunari would be wearing such a thing right now and most confounding is how the _hell_ he’d put all of this on _in the first place._

Shintarou’s eyes had been closed for _seconds._ Not even a full minute, let alone enough time to put… _this_ together. And furthermore…

 

There is no explanation for why Kazunari looks petrified.

 

“I… I-I…” Kazunari stammers, wide-eyed with his hand frozen in front of him. “I… I…” Shintarou has no idea why Kazunari is so shaken, but he takes pity on him in the form of a leading question.

 

“Are… a-are you a cosplayer…?”

 

Oh.

Oh, thank _Satan._

Thank Satan and bless Midorima’s pure, logical, scientific mind.

 

 _Of_ **course** _he fucking thinks it’s a costume!_

 

Takao’s ability to speak slowly returns.

“R-right! A costume, it’s a costume! L-l-like cosplay! A, uh, an i-incubus cosplay!” Midorima’s breathing evens out, even as his eyes are still totally bewildered behind his glasses, and he… he’s buying it. Holy shit, he’s actually buying it. He grimaces and looks down at his own chest and stomach—he’s buying it so thoroughly that he’s already moving on to wiping the jizz off of himself!!

Kazunari feels a surge of relief unlike any other he’s experienced in his entire life—it doesn’t even compare to the time he lost and then found his aunt’s ceremonial dagger. That being said, though, there’s no way his luck hasn’t run out after _this_ _._ He finally moves his hand again and brings it to his face, covering his eyes and just barely keeping from sighing to himself in disbelief. As he brings his hand back down, he relaxes.

 

 

And then all hope that he might somehow get away with this enormous slip up is completely obliterated when he relaxes so much... his horns retract into his skull.

 

 

Midorima’s skin turns a deathly pale color. His eyes widen and his pupils become pinpricks—

 

 

Well, shit, there goes the whole ‘cosplay’ angle.

 

 

“D-d-d-d-d-did… D-Did those just…”

 

_Shit! Shit, fuck!_

 

“Um!” His heart races and stammers as he tries to get his thoughts and his glamor in uorder. Instead of his nerves calming, though... he feels his horns pop back out. _Shit!_ “Um-um-u-u-um!!”

Midorima backs up against the headboard. “What the _fu—HOW are you doing that?!??_ ”

“Y—you’re _making me nervous!_ ” It’s all he can think to say because it’s the truth. He shouts it as he rushes to cover his horns with his hands and proceeds to turn a bright, embarrassed red. What he really means is that he can’t concentrate enough to properly will his demonic features away— the panic makes them recede a bit, then pop out again, then disappear again. His mind is racing, his glamour unwilling to stay in his grasp.

 

 

_Fuck._

 

 

There’s no undoing this. There’s no talking his way out of this fuck up.

 

 

He gives up. Lets out a huge, shaky sigh and covers his face with his hands, the self-loathing _strong._ He can feel his horns re-emerging one last time.

 

 

“Oh, _fuck_ _…_ ” Kazunari mumbles. “I-Ima-kun’s gonna _kill me….._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm p proud of this one. And now we can finally get into the real meat of this story. ^ ^
> 
> I'll prob add more end notes later but for now I'm seriously desperate for feedback. Thoughts on their time apart? The Akashi Research Institute? Kise and Takao's friendship? The stupid fucking sex scene? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thanks especially for your patience!


End file.
